Battlefield 2157: The Secret History of the First Contact War
by GreaterGoodIreland
Summary: Humanity survived the First Contact War. Everyone knows the story. The turians were fought and the war was ended prematurely due to the intervention of the asari and salarians. Everyone knows the heroes, like Admiral Drescher and Colonel Ryan. But how was Earth really saved? Who saved it? [Mass Effect with the background of Battlefield 2142]
1. Prologue

_AUTHOR'S FOREWORD:_

_Hello ladies and gents. _

_Welcome to Battlefield 2157. _

_This is a prequel story to Battlefield 2183, a Mass Effect story with the background of the Battlefield 2142 FPS game. You don't really need to read that to enjoy this, but you might want to read the timeline on that story's prologue up until the First Contact War. Also, if you haven't played Battlefield 2142, and don't know what an assault walker or a Titan is, you may want to check out the trailers for that game._

_I'm largely writing this because I find the end of the First Contact War to be very convenient. The canon says the asari and salarians stepped in and stopped the turians from annihilating or subjugating humanity. It doesn't say why, beyond vague mention of the asari's preference for diplomacy and the minor defeat inflicted on the turians at Shan'xi by Admiral Drescher. While that works in its own way, it's also an anti-climax. I am not satisfied._

_So, I will write the secret history of the First Contact War. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Prologue:**

**Shan'xi Colony, 2157**

_"Hello, my love. _

_We've just settled down, but our regiment is being moved out further into the wilderness. Our company moves out tomorrow and it seems likely that I will be unable to send any more messages until it's all over. _

_Don't worry, I'm safe. Shan'xi is different from what they've told us. When they say that it's like Earth, don't listen to them. The animals are different, the plants are different, the sounds at night, and of course, the sky. It's all so beautiful._

_It's been a week and the aliens have not shown up yet, and our commanders are beginning to believe that they won't show up at all. They have said that our regiment will be the first shipped home, even as they work us to the bone. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, I guess. Either way, it shouldn't take more than a few months. I'm really looking forward to seeing you again. I'm thinking of you every second and I miss you."_

Cassandra's writing was interrupted as a private entered her quarters in a fuss, hastily saluting as he straightened his uniform. Looking up from her letter, she narrowed her eyes at the interloper.

"You forgot to knock, soldier," she growled, standing up to her full height. The private looked startled as he realised she was taller than he was, but soon remembered why he was there. Cassandra grimaced as he held out the piece of paper. He had not even bothered to apologise for the transgression. She quickly decided against further reprimand. It was written all over the man's face that it was an urgent matter.

She looked over the piece of paper. It was an order to proceed to the position of the United States Colonial Marine Expeditionary Force, and to place her unit under the command of its leader, Colonel Ryan. It was signed by General Williams. Supposedly.

Cassandra slapped the order down on top of her tablet in frustration, and looked back up at the private. He seemed to be waiting, as if curious as to the response. She ground her teeth for a moment. The little bastard was annoyingly earnest.

"What do you see here?" she asked, pointing at her lapel.

"Captain's stripes, ma'am?" the private ventured, his voice unsteady with uncertainty.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. There were the stripes of a captain to be sure, but that wasn't the point she was trying to make.

"Let's try again, what flag do you see here?" she said, pulling her collar out from her armour.

"South Africa's flag, I think, ma'am," he replied.

"Good, I'm glad to see your powers of observation haven't packed up and went to a beach on Eden Prime for a nice little holiday," she said, smiling now, "And what flag is on your sleeve?"

"The Stars and Stripes, ma'am!" he declared proudly, his former uncertainty disappearing as if it had never existed at all. Cassandra sighed with exasperation. At least he was acting more like a soldier now.

"Yes, it is," she said, "Now why would General Williams split off my company from its regiment, and assign us to a foreign unit, without telling me why directly? Over the head of my own commander, who is in fact a citizen of my own country?"

The private looked sheepish for a moment, but confusion or deception was not present on the man's face. Cassandra contained her urge to ask again more politely, and sat down. This was going to be good.

"The General said to say that it was none of your God-damned business, ma'am, that all operational details from now on were to be issued on a need-to-know basis, that the Alliance was in supreme command now, and that you didn't need to know the details yet," the private said finally, "And he told me to say it exactly like that."

The man looked physically relieved, taking a sharp breath before standing to full attention, awaiting a response. A chuckle burst from Cassandra's lips. She knew the man was telling the absolute truth. It also meant the aliens were here, or at least, in the system somewhere. The General was probably afraid of comms interceptions, something that ET was apparently very good at. She stopped laughing slowly and nodded.

"That sounds like General Williams," she conceded, standing up again.

"Your response, ma'am?" he asked.

"Inform the General that C Company will move out on the hour," Cassandra said.

"There is already a guide waiting for you at checkpoint three," the soldier added. The private saluted, and left in as much a hurry as when he came, pushing the door open violently. Cassandra winced as he left. Whoever's house it was Cassandra grabbed her helmet and placed it on her head, the computer at the back humming on as it linked with the armour covering her body. The battlefield network system flashed up onto her visor, and she activated her communications.

"Nandi, copy," she said, "Get everyone ready and assembled at checkpoint three, we move out in ten. Combat loadouts."

"Yes, Captain DeRuyter," replied Lieutenant Botha.

The Captain brushed the General's order off of her tablet, and sat down, looking at what she had written.

_"Until we meet again, _

_Cassandra."_

She sent her now-completed letter quickly, not thinking about it any further. After putting away her tablet, she grabbed her pack and weapon. There would be time for letters later, Cassandra hoped, as she started on her way to her troops. For now, there was fighting to be done.

* * *

****Alliance Forward Fleet Base Arcturus****

Flight Lieutenant Hannah Shepard watched the shuttle fly away from the docks through the plate window. Watched her three year old daughter fly away, along with all the other kids that had been on Arcturus. It wasn't safe for them anymore.

Aliens had attacked the 63rd Exploration Flotilla past the Shan'xi Theta relay. Everyone had known that there were advanced species in the galaxy, and that humanity would eventually run into them. That is why there was an Alliance Navy in the first place. No one had thought that they would attack entirely unprovoked. It made no sense.

Very few people even knew what enemy they were fighting. Shan'xi's defence flotilla had retaliated and won a stunning victory against the aliens and bodies had been recovered before the aliens counterattacked, sure. No one except for the biohazard teams and the top brass had been allowed to see what the dreaded opponent looked like.

Hannah didn't care what they looked like. Her daughter's future was the only reason she needed to fight. An aggressive alien species with no regard for diplomacy or decency was seemingly on the warpath, and she would fight with every fibre of her being to see them stopped.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned around. It was John. She put her hand on his, and turned back to watch as the shuttle shrunk and shrunk, until it disappeared.

"She'll be fine," said John, "Your mother can take care of her until it's over."

"I know," Hannah replied, smiling, "Let's do what we can, Deck Chief."

* * *

TIMELINE:

**Pre-War**

**2103**:

The European Union founds Lowell City near the Martian South Pole, the first permanent human settlement on Mars. The achievement is feted as a triumph of European engineering, and threatens to trigger a space race between the European Union-African Union bloc and the massive Pan-Asian Coalition. The US plans further afield, investigating Jupiter's moon "Europa" for possible colonisation.

**2105**:

Arctic and Antarctic summer ice begins a stunning reversal of 21st Century norms, extending to the Eurasian and Canadian mainlands for the first time in fifty years. The discovery and development of fusion technology is celebrated as having finally undone the climatic damage done during the 20th and 21st centuries.

**2100s**:

Technological progress in all areas continues at pace, with anti-gravity technology based on controlled air pockets and plasma weaponry being developed in the Pan-Asian Coalition. US espionage places most of the advances in the hands of the Western powers.

**2112**:

The winter of this year is particularly harsh. The North Sea and the Baltic Sea freeze. Huge glacial flows stretch far into Russia, China, Korea and Japan. Canada nearly disappears under the ice, but its major urban centres are untouched. Populations further north than Moscow are displaced southwards for a number of years.

First anti-gravity aerial assault craft, or Titan, is launched by the PAC, soon followed by European and American projects.

**2119**:

The first year of permanent glacial flows. Emergency session of the United Nations hears evidence that the Earth is entering a new Ice Age. Evidence points to variance in solar output as cause. Treaties of mutual assistance are signed.

**2123**:

Pan-Asian Coalition begins to feel the effects of population movement and loss of huge amounts of agricultural land and resources. Unrest begins, measures put in place to insure order, elections permanently suspended. European Union and United States condemn the Pan-Asian Coalition, but refrains from economic sanctions due to fragility of global economy.

The European Union and Union of African States sign formal military and economic alliance treaty.

**2120s**:

Ice continues to extend further southward each year. Huge areas of Russia and Canada permanently under ice by decade's end.

Space colonisation efforts by the PAC cease as resources are strained, but existing settlements on Mars are maintained.

Assault walkers are field tested.

**2134**:

Titan deployments for humanitarian purposes save millions from starvation in the PAC, but the government of that state foresees mass starvation and economic ruin by the middle of the century without a change in circumstance. PAC begins mass military build-up along border. Europe and Africa respond in kind, concentrating their forces along the Mediterranean. The US increases its defence budget in response, leading to the same from South America and Australia.

Europe builds the three defensive lines in Northern Europe: Minsk, Brandenburg and Maginot.

Steven Hackett is born in Buenos Aires, in the South American Federation.

**2137:**

The last real effort to come to a diplomatic solution for resource distribution between the PAC and EU fails. The attempted US-brokered peace would have seen PAC military technology and resource wealth traded for food and energy technology. Both parties continue diplomatic talks beyond this point, but both use it to stall in order to complete their war preparations.

The Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation demonstrates helium-3 extraction from Saturn, causing a severe drop in the American stock market as helium-3 extraction from Luna is put under threat. Luna is an exclusively American holding at this time. The United States falls into a state of civil unrest as its economy is already badly affected by the climatic changes, precluding involvement in the Eurasian Crisis.

David Anderson is born in London, European Union.

**The Cold War**

**2139:**

With coordinated offensives from the Baltic to Africa, the Pan-Asian Coalition declares war on the European Union with the objective of capturing its resources and land.

The Union of African States honours its alliance with the EU and joins the fight. The PAC first strikes prioritise Africa in a conventional assault, drawing away many regular units of the European Army.

The United States' economy begins to recover quickly as European firms and government contracts pour into the country to fill war logistics demands, allowing Washington the time to solve some of its internal problems.

Kahlee Sanders is born in the Texan Megapolis, United States of America.

**November 2139: Minsk**

Operation Canute: Three battalions led by General Arkadi Petrov attack Minsk, the EU's command centre for the Minsk Defensive Line. First deployment of the militarised Titan in live combat operations, changing the nature of human warfare forever. Defence and destruction of titans becomes basis for military strategy during the war.

**2140: Breaking the European Lines**

PAC offensives concentrate on the Balkans primarily, as the region has yet to feel the full brunt of the new ice age. PAC divisions trap EU forces in the region in Belgrade in February. Despite a spirited defence by the EU 9th Armoured Corps lead by General Emil Nikoli, Belgrade falls in March.

The PAC attacks the Brandenburg Line in force. By July, PAC gunships have air superiority over the battlefield, and PAC Titans drop entire regiments behind Berlin. In August, the PAC offensive against Berlin begins, and the city falls two months later. Remaining EU forces retreat to France to make a stand while populations and industrial base is evacuated to Africa.

**2141: Verdun &amp; America  
**

The PAC control much of Europe, but the ice advanced to its furthest point recorded, rendering almost all of the land useless. The Mediterranean remains firmly in EU hands.

The next PAC offensive quickly bogs down at the Maginot line at Verdun. Caught between huge iceflows and the European defences, the PAC walkers and tanks found the attack impossible to sustain. EU tank formations using the less-sophisticated but reliable A-8 Tiger were well able to match the Nekomata hovertanks fielded by the PAC. The EU uses infiltration tactics to destroy PAC titans.

The South American Federation, seeing the other major powers distracted by war, declares its own war on Mexico. Mexican forces defend their borders valiantly, and contrary to the hopes of the SAF, the United States declares war immediately, unable to tolerate the possibility of another world power directly on its doorstep. US Titans deploy to the front, against which the SAF deploys anti-Titan missiles.

By the end of 2141, the PAC copies European anti-titan tactics and Verdun falls, but the EU's strategic objective has been achieved; populations and industry have been moved to Africa. The US and Mexico holds off the SAF, but can make no progress to halt the enemy as their military had not been at high readiness when war broke out.

**2142: The Fall of Europe &amp; The Venezuela Offensive  
**

With Verdun in PAC hands, the offensive swept through France and into Spain.

Cerbere in southern France stands as a stronghold temporarily until the intervention of PAC General Yuri Vladormirovic. Commando units using advanced optical camouflage technology breach the port's defences, but the EU leaves its crack infantry unit, the Hell Brigade, behind to defend the port. The Cerbere Landing establishes itself as the most costly battle of the Cold War.

US Titan forces attack Venezuela en masse, taking heavy casualties but successfully establishing a beachhead. The region is one of the SAF's industrial centres, and they retaliate with a general offensive on all fronts to draw away the Americans from the sector by the year's end.

The assault on Africa begins soon after with the PAC attacking Camp Gibraltar in Morocco. In May, the PAC strikes at the Suez Canal with large scale Titan forces. The EU responds in kind with their own Titan forces, and a campaign of attrition begins. Raids on Tunis and elsewhere fail to stop European and African reinforcements.

**2143: **

Mass migrations, diminishing food supplies and extremely insufficient energy generation ravage the PAC's population. With the political situation becoming increasingly desperate, PAC military forces turn their attention to the EU agricultural city project at Shuhia Tabia. Both sides deploy a dozen Titans, and the fighting over the city lasts a year, after which only two Titans are left. The region will become known as the Titan graveyard.

A similar offensive to capture the huge energy plants at Sidi fails after only two months, as PAC Titans divert to capture Shuhia Tabia or are reserved for logistics roles.

The US are repelled from Venezuela, but not before destroying the facilities there, including the SAF's Titan project factories. Furthermore, a joint US-Mexican offensive takes Panama and the path into Columbia. The entire north of the SAF is under threat.

On Mars, the European Union manages to land specialised military equipment, and attempts to bombard PAC settlements from space without success. The colonists in Lowell City begin training, and the first military unit founded on an offworld colony is raised: the European 1st Martian Armoured Regiment. Given the huge distances and harsh terrain, the government is reluctant to use its military forces aggressively until the right moment.

**2144:** **Stalemate and Prothean Ruins**

The EU repulses the PAC from Africa, and launches limited offensives eastwards from its holdings. A successful raid on a Titan facility in Karkand leaves PAC Titan production crippled. The Europeans prepare to take back their homeland.

US and Mexican forces sweep into Columbia, Peru and Chile as the Titans lead the way. The success of the attack draws the attention of Brazil, which intervenes in order to preserve the balance of power that has reigned in the Western hemisphere for nearly a century. Brazilian reinforcements push US forces back from Chile and Peru, and the first and only Titan battle between the US and Brazil occurs over Lima in September. The Brazilians copy EU and PAC tactics, using missiles to overwhelm the defences of the enemy titans and then infiltrating them to destroy their reactor cores.

The European Union orders its Martian colonies to use its newly raised military force to finally attack PAC settlements on Mars. The Martian 1st Armoured leaves Lowell City on the months-long journey to Vladivostok-on-Mars. The armoured column runs into something entirely unexpected after a modified rover falls into a large pit.

Inside the pit are the ruins of an alien outpost, complete with a cache of technology and a new material: element zero. The offensive against the PAC colonies is called off as the scientists in Lowell City examine the technology and information. News of the discovery is suppressed.

**2145: Endgame**

After half a year of examination of the alien technologies found on Mars, the European Union discovers the mass effect. As its first act, it integrates the new technology with existing orbital military satellite strike capabilities.

The planned counteroffensive to retake Europe from the PAC proceeds at a blistering pace. PAC titans and anti-titan missile installations are subjected to orbital bombardment and are annihilated. EU Titan forces are able to range at will and without contest, and PAC forces are swept back. By the summer of 2145, the EU has restored the pre-war borders.

The PAC refuses to surrender, and the EU retaliates with an all out invasion of its own. They quickly capture vast swathes of territory in Asia. The PAC response is to turn to its nuclear arsenal, which has gone unused until this point out of fear of damaging valuable productive land and further lowering the global temperature. European anti-ballistic missile systems shoot the nuclear strike down before the aging missiles can reach their targets.

The European Union responds to the attempted genocide with targeted orbital kinetic strikes on major PAC government facilities. The PAC collapses into a state of anarchy, and the rump government finally gives in. It surrenders unconditionally on November 11th 2145.

The next day, the EU declares war on the SAF and Brazil, and targets Brazil's titan forces from orbit, forcing the South American allies to the negotiating table with the US and Mexico. The cost of peace is war reparations to Mexico and a demilitarised zone in Central America, as well as the resignations of all those who voted in favour of war.

**Victory to First Contact**

**2146:**

The European Union formally annexes the majority of the Pan-Asian Coalition, setting up client governments in Japan and Korea. This causes it to become the single largest state in the history of humanity. The population of the former territory of the PAC has dropped significantly due to mass migrations to other states as well as starvation and combat losses. Millions of displaced Europeans are resettled. Surviving PAC citizens are granted citizenship of the EU and receive generous subsidies. Those responsible for the start of the war are hunted down and tried for crimes against humanity.

Earth's economy begins to recover.

The advance of the arctic ice halts at last and recedes slightly.

**2148: **

The European Space Agency ship _Ariane_ makes the first manned FTL flight between Mars and Luna. The ESA begins a worldwide recruitment campaign for the best pilots and astronauts.

The United States demands full payment of the massive European war debt, hoping to gain FTL technology. The European Union refuses, stating that it would pay its debts as agreed previously and that its new technologies were not for sale. The US begins serious diplomatic efforts to rally the rest of the world against Europe for its position, calling the hoarding of the technology to be selfish and without regard for the cause of humanity.

The European Union accepts Canada as a member state, allowing millions of Canadian refugees to enter Europe as citizens from the massive refugee camps in the United States.

**2149:**

The secret of European advances in technology is leaked, and the human race learns that it is not the sole sentient species in the universe. Demands from other world powers to share the technology gleaned from the Prothean Archives on Mars are met with military brinkmanship from the EU.

Production of mass effect technologies explodes, with everything from small-arms to spaceships being constructed by European state-firms. Petitions to open the technology to private firms are shot down in the European Parliament, which wishes to insure their own military superiority before allowing civilian applications.

The Charon Mass Relay is discovered. The American test-pilot Jon Grissom is the first man to leave the Sol System, travelling by mass relay to the Arcturus system on board the European Space Agency ship _Ragnarok_.

**2150:**

The European Union gives in to massive international pressure from friends and rivals alike, and forms the Systems Alliance, a political and military compact for the exploitation of space by humanity. As the largest polity on Earth, the EU dominates the alliance along with the US. Two military wings are formed, the Navy made up of the European fleets under unified political control, and the Army, made up of modernised military forces from all member nations.

Arctic ice recedes partially, releasing parts of Canada, Britain, Ireland and Europe from the glaciers. Mass effect technology is released to the private sector, leading to a boom period of population growth and economic development.

The Systems Alliance begins its first surveys of other systems for habitable planets. Demeter and Eden Prime are among the first to be discovered.

Miranda Lawson is born in Werrington Downs, Australia.

**2151:**

The Systems Alliance accelerates the original European fleet construction programme in anticipation of first contact with extraterrestrials, as well as for the colonisation of space. Ships of all classes as well as orbital-deployed Titans and assault walkers are built en masse. US, African and EU armies are equipped with mass accelerator weapons for the first time.

The first colonisation congress is held in the Palace of Versailles. The European Union cedes the entirety of its rights to the colonisation of Terra Nova to the Union of African States, in compensation of its contributions during the Cold War.

An airport accident in Singapore leads to mass exposures to element zero in dust form.

Kaiden Alenko is born in Singapore, EU-Administered Malaya.

**2154:**

Jane Shepard is born in Lorient, European Union, to Hannah Shepard, a Canadian cadet of the Systems Alliance Navy.

**2155: **

Jeff Moreau is born on Arcturus Station, the new forward naval base of the Systems Alliance.

The ten year anniversary of the end of the Cold War is held, with massive parades in Paris, Mexico City, Cape Town and Washington.

**2157:**

The First, Second and Third Fleets of the Systems Alliance are declared formally ready for combat operations. Exercises in space with the various new weapons designs are ordered as exploration continues at a rapid pace.

Jacob Taylor is born in New York State, the United States of America.


	2. Chapter 1: Face of the Enemy

_AUTHOR'S FOREWORD:  
Here's the first chapter of Battlefield 2157!_

_Had a lot of fun with this, setting up the characters and the beginnings of what I think is going to be a really good story to write. Reviews and comments are appreciated as always._

_One chapter of this story will be posted up for every two posted up for Battlefield 2183._

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter One: Face of the Enemy**

_**Shanxi Colony**_

Captain Cassandra DeRuyter sat upright on the edge of the commander's hatch, as her armoured personnel carrier rumbled forwards through the streets of New Weinan. The colonial capital's clean and well ordered streets were laid out in neat blocks with no blemishes or divergences from geometric perfection. The sort of thing you could only get with virgin land and obsessive urban planning. It wasn't like Cape Town or Johannesburg, that was for sure. Only now did she have the opportunity to notice the absolute order imposed on the land. It felt as unnatural as it was, wrong even.

The Captain watched the side streets fly by in the midday sun, as her company passed in their vehicles. Every one of them was empty, as she had expected. Martial law had been declared as soon as word of the alien attack had reached the planet. The measures to do so were laid out long before, and not because of aliens.

Shanxi was a refugee colony, its colonists transplanted from the iced-over and defeated lands of the former Pan-Asian Coalition. Mandarin Chinese was the primary language, and all the signs were in Chinese as well as English and French.

The Europeans now ruled almost all of Eurasia, the spoils of war taken thanks to their discovery of the ruins on Mars and justified by the vicious attack they had suffered at the hands of the now defeated enemy. History had a dark sense of humour, it seemed. The former inhabitants had very variable opinions of the arrangement, even as it continued beyond Earth itself. Disagreements were planned for, and now the planning had paid off.

Cassandra felt some pity for colonists. Her own home had not suffered from the glaciers. South Africa had fought alongside Europe, with all the other states of the African Union, but it had been untouched during "The Cold War". Africa had been a place of respite, which was why she was proud to fight for it.

The convoy continued on its way, passing into the outskirts and towards Checkpoint Three. Nicknamed the "_Western Gate_", it was where the city met the countryside, and where Cassandra's guide was supposedly waiting. She had been tempted to call up General Williams to get more details on her mission, but orders were orders. She was to proceed to the American base according to the directions of the guide, and further operational details would be revealed on a need-to-know basis. She hated being in the dark under normal circumstances, but this situation was almost unbearable. She understood the reasons for the secrecy, but she had little doubt that people would die because of it.

As Cassandra began contemplating a quick interrogation of the guide, a column of vehicles came into view that immediately caught her attention. She switched her comms to the first platoon's dedicated channel.

"Lieutenant Botha, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Cassandra asked. Nandi Botha was always in the lead troop.

"Rocket artillery," Nandi replied, "Do you think the Americans are afraid of something?" A dozen or so tracked artillery vehicles were parked along the street ahead of them, all the way to the checkpoint itself. The huge boxy rocket launchers sat mounted on the backs of half-tracks, and all of them were painted green-brown in the computer-generated camouflage pattern that the Alliance had imposed on all human ground forces. Surface-to-surface and anti-ship missiles were stacked in trucks with them. Cassandra's distaste at the lack of information she had increased by an order of magnitude. Heavy artillery would slow the column down considerably.

"I'm beginning to think we should be afraid," she said, only half-joking, "Do you see the guide?"

"I think so, ma'am."

Cassandra switched channels again to the company-wide band, and ordered the vehicles to pull over. The armoured line did so in choreographed coordination, and each APC came to a halt with its right wheels on the curb. The air quieted significantly as the engines were turned off. Cassandra jumped down from her own vehicle, as her troops emerged from rear hatches to stretch their legs and sit on the unfinished buildings beside the road. They saluted as she passed.

Nandi approached from the front of the column, and followed the example of the other soldiers. "This way, ma'am," she said as she finished her own salute, and turned back the way she had come. Cassandra followed. When they had rounded the last APC and the recon cars, the lieutenant pointed out the guide.

"Captain DeRuyter, I presume?" the man said as Cassandra approached, "Captain Allen Beck, United States Colonial Marines." He was smaller than her, as most men were, but stocky with a look like he could bend railway tracks with his bare hands. She placed his accent in New England, an accent she knew quite well from vids. He was in full combat armour, as she was. A born artillery man, she thought.

They saluted each other, and she held out her hand for him to shake, which he did with enthusiasm. Cassandra decided she liked him.

"Very glad to have you on this little roadtrip of ours," Beck continued, "Heard you were good."

"The best," Cassandra smirked, "I only wish we could have shown you Americans before the universe decided to play games with us."

"I'm sure we'll both get the opportunity to impress each other. I suppose you haven't been told much," he said, as they began walking towards the edge of the defences. An understatement to say the least.

"I haven't been told anything at all, other than to follow you to Colonel Ryan's position. I haven't even seen what our enemy looks like, never mind any useful intelligence on their tactics or weaponry."

Captain Beck stopped in his tracks, and turned to Cassandra.

"I'm not authorised to tell you anything but this," he said quietly, making sure no one else heard, "Humanity's very existence could depend on our mission's success, and that's not a lie if what little that I've been told is true."

Cassandra's eyebrows arched upward in surprise. Beck looked away as if he was guilty of something. She took a breath. Assuming the American wasn't exaggerating, then it appeared she had just been volunteered for a suicide mission. She grabbed the captain by the shoulder.

"None of my people signed up to be cannon fodder," she said quietly, "Colonel Ryan better be prepared to tell me everything when we arrive."

Beck smiled at her. He knew far more than he was telling, and she was taken aback for a moment.

"Trust me DeRuyter, by the time you meet him, you'll understand entirely," he said.

Cassandra just glared at him. If that was the case, why not just tell now? She shook her head, and turned her gaze to the rolling countryside in front of her.

"We should get moving," she said finally, unable to dismiss her impatience.

* * *

_**Alliance Forward Fleet Base Arcturus**_

The double doors opened automatically, and Hannah stepped into the security room. Two guards stood in heavy ballistic armour from head to toe, armed to the teeth, protecting the next set of doors. They immediately halted her. She complied with a sigh. She was running a little late.

"Name, rank, state, ID code" the faceless guard on the left asked in a commanding tone.

"Hannah Shepard, Flight Lieutenant, Canada, 987QU245-FL," she said, rolling her eyes.

The guard on the right checked a tablet for her details on the authorised entry list, being as meticulous as possible. Hannah just watched, hand on hip as the other guard scanned her for weapons or recording devices.

"You do realise I come in here every other day, right?" she said, smiling, "Aliens or not, I think you can recognise that it's me, Silvino."

The guard on the right pressed the side of his helmet, and the faceplate slid upwards over his head to reveal the man's face. It was sullen. Hannah's smile turned into a frown, as she became less sure of herself. Silvino was usually a cheery one.

"Yeah, well, you didn't get dragged to a briefing saying that all the checks were to be done correctly or the whole security contingent would get a bollocking," said Silvino, his English accent heavily increased by his sarcastic tones, "Every frigate pilot and N7 in the Second Fleet is in that room. Drescher and Grissom are supposed to turn up any minute."

Hannah's ears pricked up at the mention of one of humanity's great heroes. If Grissom was coming, something big was coming. Beyond the alien invasion, anyway. She began to feel her heart beating in her chest. Had the time for the counterattack come already? Rumours that the strikeback had been delayed were circulating. She hoped they were wrong. The fight needed to be taken to the enemy.

"Alright, you're cleared to enter," Silvino said, "Good luck."

"Thanks."

The thick sound-cancelling doors opened. A wave of noise washed over Hannah. Silvino wasn't joking, literally every frigate helmsman and naval infantry specialist in her fleet was in the packed-to-capacity room. The room was a hemicycle, with a speaker's rostra and a projector surrounded by ever higher rows of tables and seats.

She looked in vain for a space to sit, but soon found a familiar person waving her over. Mari Stokke was the primary pilot of the Narvik, the sister ship of Hannah's own Carillon. Frigates were paired up in the wolfpacks, and pilots of paired ships were close. Hannah and Mari particularly so. They had both been exiles from lands covered in ice when they met in Lorient during their training. The small red-haired Canadian and the tall blonde Scandinavian had become friends almost instantly. "Aunty Mari" often brought Hannah's daughter sweets, and on this occasion, had managed to save a seat in the midst of dozens of men standing. She was family.

"Thanks Mari, you're a miracle worker," said Hannah as she climbed through the packed seating to take her place, "How on Earth did you manage to keep a seat for me?"

"She growled at anyone coming close," said the soldier beside her, "Scared a six-five marine away like he was a puppy." Hannah turned to meet the speaker, and found a hand already extended in greeting. It was a marine, not much older than herself.

"David Anderson, N7, SSV Stamford Bridge," he said, as she shook his hand.

"You tried to take it as well, so you don't get off," Mari said. Anderson held his hands up in protest and smiled.

"Hannah Shepard, it's nice to meet you," Hannah said quickly. Anderson nodded, before turning back to his own crew. Mari shook her head.

"So, how's my Jane?" the pilot said, grinning, "Not getting enough candies, I bet."

Hannah snorted her doubt at that.

"She's with my mother underground in Montreal, they're probably drowning in hot chocolate," she said, "Probably the only thing that can keep her distracted long enough. My little girl can't stop climbing and jumping off things."

Mari paused for a moment, looking from side to side to make sure no one in particular was listening. When she was sure that everyone was busy with their own conversations, she spoke.

"Have you heard what this is about?" she whispered, "No one seems to know anything, I don't like it."

"ATTENTION ON DECK!" someone shouted. Every man and woman stood up, turned to the door and saluted. The admirals were at the door, surrounded by aides. They saluted the group, and moved down the stairs to the rostra. Drescher was her familiar self, in full formal uniform with her brown hair tied back. Grissom on the other hand seemed positively out of place in the same get-up. Most of the vids and pictures that Hannah saw had him dressed in a test pilot's suit or general combat fatigues.

"At ease," said Drescher, indicating for the group to sit. Those with seats did so as one, the chatter dead now as all ears opened. Hannah waited impatiently. She wanted to know when the counterattack would begin as soon as possible.

An aide handed the admirals tablets, as the lights dimmed. The projector hummed on, and the symbol of the Alliance sprung up on the screen. Drescher began to speak.

"Pilots and N7s of the Second Fleet wolfpack flotillas, this is your summary briefing on our new enemy. The information we are about to give you is classified at the highest levels, and we have only been authorised to give you this intelligence in recognition that it will be required for your coming duties. All communications are being monitored, and any leaking of the information you are about to receive will result in charges of treason against the offending parties to be brought by their respective countries of origin. Your presence here indicates your agreement with the Alliance Official Secrets Directive."

Drescher took a sip of water from a glass on the podium. She turned to the screen above her, and nodded to the nearest aide. The image changed.

A wave of consternation rode through the crowd. Gasps of shock and hands clasping over mouths in horror. Both Hannah and Mari looked on in disbelief.

The aliens were bizarre. They looked like bipedal dinosaurs, with strange plate-like skin. They had elaborate face structures, daubed with warpaint. About half had strange quills coming out of the back of their heads. A raised collarbone that could have been armoured. Two fingers and a thumb, all seemingly clawed. The legs were like a dog's, except for the feet. Hannah could tell just from looking at them that they were formidable, but ugly wasn't an adequate enough word to describe what. She couldn't help but feel uneasy, looking at the face of the enemy.

Drescher continued to speak.

"This is our enemy. They call themselves turians, but that's the only thing about them we know for sure. As you can see, they are bipedal, and if their eyes and claws are any indication, they are evolved apex predators. At this time, we have no intelligence as to the specific tolerances of their bodies, but we can assume they are equal to or even slightly stronger than we are."

The image changed again, showing what appeared to be two turians stepping out of a small ship of some sort, firing strange weapons. Hannah's fears about their ferocity were confirmed. Some of the pictures showed the aliens charging a gunline.

"After the Shanxi defence flotilla defeated the original alien armada, we attempted to recover escape pods to capture specimens alive. Once we opened the first up, the two aliens inside were waiting. We think they were supposed to be ground troops. To date, this is the only combat that has occurred between our ground forces... They fought to the death, killing seven men before they fell. We let the other escape pods go, hoping the enemy would see it as a gesture. They did not, and have entered orbit over Shanxi as you are all now aware. These facts seem to indicate that they are a militarised total war culture. As far as we can guess, they are not the species that left behind the data troves on Mars."

Drescher took another sip of water, as several alien starships appeared on the screen, pictures taken from various angles. Hannah's eyes searched over every inch of every one of them. They all had wide wings attached to their angular hulls, and their weapons looked impressive. The smallest seemed to be larger than her own ship.

"The enemy have a technological edge on us. Our scientists tell us that they are perhaps ten or twenty years ahead of us, and it shows. Their ships have better kinetic barriers, superior mass-accelerator technology, and all their classes of ship are capable of turning at a faster rate than our own respective ships."

Drescher paused, putting her hands on the edge of the lectern and looking down for a moment. Hannah felt a lump rise in her throat. Her commanding officer's face was going pale. The admiral looked very tired.

"Estimates of the enemy's numbers are not encouraging for us. Our initial probes sent out indicate huge numbers of starships through the mass relay they appeared from. We may be standing on the precipice of extinction or slavery. The only thing that stands in the way is this navy. It may take a miracle, but victory is the only option. It's victory, or death."

Another wave of despair set in across the room. No one spoke. Heads turned anywhere but the front. No one could look each other in the eye. Hannah felt her insides drop. The look of dread on her compatriots faces had struck a different sort of fear into her heart. The fear that they could not defend humanity. To defend her daughter and all the others. She looked to Mari, and found her grim-faced like never before. Quickly putting her hand on the woman's shoulder, she got a small insincere smile in return.

Hannah looked forward again to see Jon Grissom step onto the podium beside Drescher. There was fire in the man's eyes. A little of the weight of responsibility lifted.

"Eyes up, soldiers!" he shouted. All faces returned to face forward, and everyone sat up straight. The first human to ever leave the Sol system surveyed the room, his glare sweeping over the room from one side to the other. Hannah felt it cross her own face for a moment. He was reminding them all who they were.

"It is not all bad news. The enemy's tactics are unimaginative. They charge headlong to the assault, relying on their superior technology to win the day. But we have our own tech advantages. Their torpedoes launchers are primitive, they rely entirely on the guns to get the job done. The last report from Shanxi indicated that they don't have titans, so they can't deploy ground forces in hostile conditions as easily as we can. With these advantages, we have all we need to win. We're soldiers of the Systems Alliance, and we're human. We will prevail."

Hannah's confidence was restored as the crowd rallied. The sigh of relief was audible, and faces were alight once again with some semblance of thirst for the fight. She thanked the stars for Jon Grissom's nerve, as the projector image changed to an outline of deployments.

"As per usual, the frigate crews will have the hardest job once we get into it," Drescher said, looking a little better now herself, "So we will drill and drill and drill. Wolfpack manoeuvres, N7 orbital insertions by assault pod, and fleet exercises will be practiced around the clock. Our fleets have only been combat capable for three months. So help me God, by the end of next week, this fleet will be ready to storm hell itself."

"Each of you will receive your specific orders in the morning, along with intelligence documents with greater detail on everything covered in this briefing," Grissom added, "I suggest you all get a good night's rest, because it's the last one you'll get until this war is over. You've all been given leave until tomorrow. Dismissed."

The entire room stood up again and saluted. The admirals returned the gesture, and all eyes followed them as they climbed the stairs to leave. The aides shuffled out behind them, data tablets in hand and looking ragged. They had more briefings to plough through. Once they had left, half the room fell back into their seats. Hannah and Mari included.

"Well, that was horrible," Mari growled, slouching into the seat as others filed past to the exit, "I feel sick." Hannah just felt exhausted. Her senses had been assaulted by the briefing, her fears raised and then checked. She kept quiet, but couldn't fool her companion.

"It'll be alright," said Mari, taking her hand, "Go find John, spend the night with him, and when it's morning, we can concentrate on the aliens."

Hannah smiled. It was a good idea. With Jane gone, they would actually have the privacy to carry out the idea as well. Mari usually helped out when privacy was required, she remembered.

"What about you?" she asked.

Mari shrugged, and her eyes rolled upwards as she thought for a moment. A coy smile spread onto her face. Hannah's brow arched upwards as her friend got out of her seat and stretched.

"I think I'll go see if that Anderson is up for it," Mari declared at last, "Might not get another chance."

Hannah couldn't help but laugh out loud.

* * *

_**Shanxi Colony**_

The armoured column came to a halt along a bend in the road, tall Earth pines lining it like a wall. It had been two days since they had set out from New Weinan. At night, there were lights in the sky that hadn't been there before. The recon element had encountered the enemy. Cassandra had called a halt immediately, and ordered the forward troops to get a good vantage point above the aliens' position. She waited for the NetBat video link, tapping the top of her vehicle impatiently with her hand as she stared at her tablet. It showed a map of the area, and was tagged with enemy positions.

The aliens had landed outside a small farming town of about thirty thousand people. It had a squad of armed police according to the records she could access, but no fighting had started. Instead, the settlement was encircled and some outer structures captured for some unknown purpose. The enemy shuttles were parked to the north, and from the numbers, Cassandra reckoned that they had landed in platoon strength. She wanted to attack, but she needed to see her enemy first. Their weapons, their vehicles, their tactics. Their faces.

A tapping noise distracted her, and she looked to its source. Captain Beck stood beside her vehicle, looking up at her. She nodded at him.

"Captain, to what do I owe the pleasure?" she said.

"Why have we stopped?" Beck asked, "You didn't say when you ordered the halt."

Cassandra put down her tablet, and gave her full attention to the American officer.

"The enemy have landed ahead of us," she explained, "I've sent my people to spot their positions, I was about to contact you so we could work out the targeting coordinates for your rockets."

Beck's face darkened. He had no intention of attacking the invader. Cassandra's blood boiled up at the sight of the man's shame. She slammed her fist onto the top of the vehicle, almost hurting herself. She suspected he meant to keep her from her duty, and what every instinct as a commander told her to do.

"Do not tell me what I think you are about to, Captain," she said through her teeth, "I'm not sure I could contain myself."

"Captain DeRuyter, our mission is too important," Beck replied, "If we get the job done here, we could turn the war around. We can't stop for anything."

Cassandra just stared at him, gripping the edge of her hatch with knuckle-whitening force. The man meant to abandon the civilians to the aliens. She imagined every possible horror that they could endure. Experiments, abuse, executions, slavery. All at the hands of faceless aggressors. She couldn't bring herself to comply with Beck, no matter how important he insisted it was.

"We're supposed to leave our people to the enemy, and let an enemy fester in our rear as we advance?" she shouted, "You're insane if you think I could let either happen, Captain, and as you have no authority to stop me, you can shove your mission up your ass! The enemy is before me and I intend to strike him!"

Beck stood there, staring back at her with a calm face. Cassandra took a breath to restore her resolve. She looked around, and found half the column looking dazed in her direction. They had all heard the outburst, and suddenly, she felt embarrassed.

"My apologies, Captain, that was inappropriate," she said at last, "But what I said still stands, I cannot allow the enemy freedom to attack civilians and attack our rear."

Beck opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud squawk on the comms. Cassandra picked up her tablet again, and found the video link was active. She brought it up on the main window with haste, and her eyes ate every detail.

The aliens were almost comedic to look at. Their legs bent the wrong way, and had strange parts poking out. Their armour seemed to ring around their necks and backs, making them look like they had a hump. They remained faceless, but there was no way they could be human-like. Their helmets covered their features, and also stretched far back past where the back of their heads were. They appeared to have claws instead of fingers, but their weaponry looked familiar enough for a human to use. A group of about seven of them were clustered on top of a building, apparently on overwatch duty. All of this conformed to her expectations on some level, except for one thing.

The aliens were broadcasting something over loudspeakers in English.

It had barely been two weeks since the 63rd Exploration Flotilla had been attacked, yet the aliens had already deciphered the common military language. As she listened, Cassandra was tempted to order her entire unit to switch to isiZulu or Afrikaans for orders. The aliens wouldn't be able to understand either of those languages if they were listening in, but the Americans wouldn't either. She told Beck to get his own tablet out, as she transferred the link to his channel. She couldn't make out the exact words the aliens were broadcasting, but she was sure it wasn't good news.

"Recon 3, what is that the aliens are saying?" Cassandra asked over the comms, "We can't make out the exact words over the vid-feed."

"C Command, they're calling for civilians to enter a safe zone," came the reply, "That anyone who doesn't want to fight should proceed to the western part of the settlement, and that anyone who fails to comply is to be considered a combatant... We've just seen some executions ma'am."

Cassandra's deepest fear had been realised. They were rounding up the civilians and shooting anyone who resisted. The urge to order an immediate attack clawed its way to the front of her mind, but fate wasn't done yet.

"C Command, we have gunfire!"

The video turned from the outskirts to a view of the central thoroughfare. The enemy had finally encountered the police, and a vicious firefight was being played out down Main Street. Cassandra turned once more to Beck. He was engrossed in the video. His face was very far from calm now.

"Captain, let's kill these bastards," Cassandra said, "Could we live with ourselves if we didn't?"

She watched as her American counterpart's eyes returned to her own. He grimaced, and then nodded. She smiled at him. She was glad to discover he still had a conscience. He ran back towards his own unit at full pace, and she watched him for a moment, before opening up the general comms channel.

"This is DeRuyter, all units forward to Recon 3's position," she said firmly, "No quarter. We're going to teach the aliens to fear the soldiers of South Africa."

A cheer went up, and the vehicles started forward once more, the battle awaiting them.


	3. Chapter 2: Ways of the Enemy

**Chapter Two: Ways of the Enemy**

_**Chang'an, Shanxi Colony**_

The infantry fighting vehicles drove down the dirt road, and began separating from the column into a wider formation just below the ridge line. Cassandra's own vehicle pulled in below Recon 3's position atop a small peaked hill. The Captain looked up and down the line, as her company took up their positions for the assault. She took a breath. They were ready. Now it was a question of whether or not the Americans would be.

"Alle eenhede, hou posisie." All units, hold position.

Cassandra climbed out of her cupola. She paced up the hill, taking large steps quickly to get to her scouts. She wanted to see what was to happen with her own eyes. As it was, they were all laying down, observation equipment and sniper rifles set up, watching the town below with complete concentration.

Cassandra recalled her report on the settelement. Chang'an was the gateway to Xi'an Valley, a region scheduled to become a major agricultural hub for the planet's continued colonisation. Surrounded by the more humble prefabricated colonial habitations, government buildings rose up in the middle of the town. In contrast to the housing, these were sheathed in marble and had been designed in a Greco-Roman neoclassical style. The blue flag with a golden halo of stars hung over the building that was to become the provincial legislature, a building that was now under siege.

The Captain felt a pang of anger as she watched the aliens tear into the building with their weapons. The police units had holed up in the government quarter, and it seemed like most of the enemy were concentrating on doing their best to burn it to the ground. The aliens didn't seem intent on taking prisoners, and neither would she, but it was disturbing to watch nonetheless. Cassandra contented herself with the knowledge that she would put an end to it soon.

"Lieutenant Zibonele, report," she said, laying down beside her lead scout. A quiet man usually, he didn't turn from his binoculars as he began to speak.

"I have counted a little more than sixty hostiles moving around. Ten squads of six, and some command staff. No vehicles except the shuttles, and they don't seem to be using them. About forty are assaulting the police, another twenty or so are going door to door, moving civilians. Most of the citizens have surrendered. The executions we saw weren't the only ones, and they burned the bodies a little while ago. No sign that they've spotted us yet, but it's only a matter of time before they get orbitals on us."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, as she scanned the town. The aliens that were on overwatch were still there, guarding the civilian safezone. The shuttles were in position. She had the invaders outnumbered and outgunned, if they could remove the enemy air support before it took off. Which was the plan, of course, but it still felt like she was walking into an ambush.

"We have the coordinates for the artillery strike, ready to relay them to the Americans on your command," Zibonele added, finally turning his attention to his commander. Cassandra looked back, and saw the emotions she shared with the man. Anger. The will to fight. She pat him on the shoulder, and activated her comms.

"Takel die kleure!" Raise the colours.

Cassandra rolled from her stomach onto her back, and sat up to watch as each vehicle's driver came out of their hatch and began placing the national flag on their radio antennae. When the task was done, and the soldiers returned to the safety of their APCs, she turned back to Zibonele.

The Captain began to execute the plan that had been forming in her mind. She sent the location of the civilian safezone to Lieutenant Botha's platoon, tasking her to rescue the citizens quickly before the aliens got ideas about holding them hostage. Getting the citizens out of the firing line was the first priority. No one had any idea what the enemy wanted to do with them, and Cassandra had no intention of letting the people of Chang'an be the first to find out. The rest of the company would barrel up the central street as fast as they could, and deploy their infantry against the enemy attacking the police. The coppers had held out very well until now, by some miracle from the heavens or their own determination, but it was time that real soldiers entered the fray.

"Lieutenant, send the coordinates," she said firmly. Fire flashed in the man's eyes, as he followed her command with zeal, quickly returning his gaze to the target zone to watch hell break loose.

"Captain, one more thing before it begins," Zibonele said, "If you want to fool the aliens, using Afrikaans may not work. If they figured out English, they'll figure it out too."

Cassandra glanced at the scout in surprise. She hadn't thought about that, but the man was a cerebral type and probably knew what he was talking about. She nodded her approval, and waited for Captain Beck's move, turning her channel over to listen.

"Coordinates set, ready," the comms buzzed, the drawl of a southern American accent present.

"Fire," Beck commanded.

Missiles streaked from the ground behind, laying columns of smoke behind them as the multiple rocket launcher systems fired from a couple of miles behind. Cassandra watched the sight, tracking the flight paths as they tore white lanes in the blue sky. It was beautiful, in its own way.

The ordnance landed on the north side of town, among the enemy shuttles. Detonation flashes signalled each impact, followed up by thunderclaps as the sound caught up with the light. The alien shuttles were a lot less protected than Cassandra thought they would be. Some were tossed about like ragdolls. Still more were wrecked, suffering direct hits to their hulls and beginning to burn. Black smoke began rising from the target zone, drifting into the air. A cheer went up from the scouts, as they watched the chaos unfold in the enemy landing zone. There was no way anything could have survived the barrage.

Cassandra smirked. She had discovered the aliens had two weaknesses. Arrogance and complacency. Only creatures with complete contempt for the capabilities of their enemies would leave their only real means of transportation so badly protected. Contempt that was utterly misplaced in this case. Crippling the ability of the enemy to move and preserving your own was doctrine approaching sacred decree in any human military.

The fight was on. The Captain ran back to her vehicle as Zibonele's squad began firing at the enemy squad on overwatch. No point being stealthy about anything now, the enemy knew they were here. Now, it was time for shock and awe.

Cassandra clambered up into her APC's cupola and gave the order to advance. The command was met with the sounds of drivers gunning their engines. The vehicles crested the ridge line in a great wave of rolling metal, and sped towards the town at top speed, trampling crops as they did so. The South African flags, previously limp, caught the air and waved out from the comms masts. Adrenalin made its presence felt as she watched her troops go to do their duty. Cassandra knew they were entering the pages of history, perhaps even gaining some measure of immortality. She knew they would not fail her.

Lieutenant Botha's platoon split off to the left, to skirt the town along the south to get to the civilians in the west. The rest followed their captain, and went straight for Main Street.

The armoured vehicles rolled off of the fields and onto the fresh tarmac of the wide avenue that cut its way through the urban clutter. Houses passed by, doors flung open and left that way. Various pieces of luggage were thrown about the streets, abandoned or dumped by their owners at the command of the invaders. Shop fronts were broken through. Cassandra shuddered at these sights. It seemed all too much like ethnic cleansing to her. Not a single human being had been spotted.

The vehicles were able to advance along all four lanes of the road, and made good progress. It was a small town, so there wasn't much ground to cover. The blackened, damaged town hall soon swung into view from behind the other buildings.

And so did the enemy.

When she saw them, Cassandra couldn't help but admire their discipline. The aliens had retreated from their siege positions surrounding the cops, and had set up to fight her troops in very good order. The enemy didn't seem to have a single qualm about being outnumbered and outgunned, not in the slightest. Their shots began pinging off the front of her vehicle. She buttoned up inside quickly, closing the top hatch behind her with haste.

The shots rang the armour of the APC like a dull bell. Cassandra wondered what in the hell they were firing, as she peered into her periscope. She was almost in range for her ace-in-the-hole, but the fire intensified. The metallic drumbeat of the shots impacting her vehicle was getting worse. The enemy was drawing them in.

The chattering of her own troops' weapons started up at last. The vehicles began demolishing the sides of buildings with their grenade launchers, and suppressing the alien squads with machineguns. At first, the aliens seemed unperturbed, remaining rooted to their positions and firing back. To Cassandra's relief, they began to falter after some of them were hit, but her eyebrows raised as she realised something else. The aliens' blood was a deep blue. A dark patch of it splattered across a wall as one of the enemy took a hit from a twelve point seven round, blasting a ragged hole in the thing's chest. She flinched at the sight, somehow feeling sympathy for the creature even as it revealed yet another difference in biology by its death.

The aliens retreat was perfect. Cassandra didn't see a single one of their backs, they just disappeared. She hadn't seen anything so disturbing in her entire military career. One second, entire squads were firing, the next, they weren't there, as if they weren't material beings at all. Were they telepaths or just very very good? She decided she needed to find out.

The Captain called the halt, and the column drew up into a close formation, covering side streets with their automatic weapons and mortars. She swiveled her periscope from side to side, trying to get some clue as to what was going on. The NetBat system didn't inform her of anything, but the motion sensors couldn't be relied on. She couldn't see the enemy at all. The path to the town hall looked clear.

Cassandra knew it was a trap, but she had no idea of what sort. She decided that she had her fill of these games. "Lieutenant Sinha, switch to incendiaries, fire on the buildings on both sides of the street in front of us," she ordered. If the aliens wanted to play hide and seek, she would oblige them by burning them alive in their hidey-holes. Invaders deserved nothing less.

"Yes, Captain DeRuyter," Sinha replied.

The grenade launchers of the infantry fighting vehicles turned and shot. The flames bloomed like red and orange flowers out of windows, spreading like vines up walls. Black smoke spread with the fires, as the buildings were slowly consumed. Cassandra watched the scene, scanning every doorway for movement. It was difficult because of the smoke, but sure enough, the enemy was on the move.

"Captain! Contact front!" Sinha said, her voice in a panic. Cassandra turned her attention back to the wide street, as the shooting began again.

Two alien vehicles were pulling into view, hovering just off the ground. They were obviously some sort of light tank destroyer unit. They were angular, sloped things about the size of a car. A missile system stood on the left side of each of them, while the right side was taken up by a crew compartment.

The first of the enemy vehicles was taking aim. The missiles streamed out of it, and towards the APCs. The missiles had some sort of intelligent targeting system. They spread out and paired off against each target. The active defences shot down most of them, but the forward-most vehicle in Sinha's platoon was unlucky. The missiles penetrated the metal skin of the tank, and exploded inside. Cassandra slammed her fist against the side of the cabin in rage, as a few of her soldiers scrambled out of the hatches of their vehicle, bloodied.

"Advance!" she ordered, "Rush them!"

Acknowledgements rang out over the comms, and the wheels of the entire column spun before gripping the road. The distance closed remarkably fast, but the aliens stood their ground. Cassandra took control of her vehicle's heavy machinegun, and fired bursts at the enemy. The bullets seemed to bounce off harmlessly, before ever impacting the targets.

"I think they have kinetic barriers," Cassandra said with incredulity.

"Not for long," replied Sinha.

The lieutenant fired her APC's launcher. The shot sailed through the air, before landing right on top of the first enemy anti-grav tank. The detonation sent electrical discharges into the air. The shields stopped direct contact, but it wasn't necessary. The alien vehicle crashed to the ground, and stopped shooting immediately.

Cassandra laughed, as the alien tried to climb out of its disabled vehicle. They obviously weren't well shielded against EMP devices and perhaps didn't even have redundant systems. She had discovered another weakness of the enemy. She triggered her machinegun once again, and was rewarded as the target exploded. The missiles had detonated in their launcher, sending the dog-legged bastard flying. The high of victory started to inch its way to the front of her mind, as the second vehicle was eliminated by the combined effort of her subordinates.

Shots began bouncing off her vehicle again, as the enemy infantry made their reappearance. Except they were now in range.

"Third Platoon, deploy infantry!" said Cassandra, as the column came to a halt once again.

The assault pods launched from the back of the APCs at the rear. They arced through the air, rising into the sky some hundred feet or more and then descending to deliver their cargo. Landing with a dull thud on the tops of the buildings, a soldier disembarked from each one. Cassandra watched her network interface, as her map showed the deployments. The enemy was now entirely surrounded.

The sounds of small arms fire spread, as the close quarters fighting began. Cassandra knew it would end in her favour. The aliens may be disciplined, but her troops were cunning sons of bitches. They'd root out the invaders and wouldn't play by the rules they were expected to.

"Captain, this is Lieutenant Botha. We have the civilians. Had some trouble with an enemy armoured car, but we took it out."

Cassandra nodded to herself. She had counted on Nandi to get the job done on the west side, and she wasn't disappointed. Now the question of what to do with the civilians would arise, but that was far more pleasant than having the red stain of abandoning them on her conscience.

"Good work Nandi, make sure they're alright over there and then join us at the town hall in an hour," Cassandra said, "Sinha, with me, let's get the police. Third platoon has things handled here."

"Yes, Captain."

The front half of the column started moving again, cautiously approaching the central plaza in front of the marble government building. The large public space was littered with abandoned cars and trucks. The APCs weaved their way around them, smashing their way through when there wasn't enough room. Cassandra opened her hatch and sat up in her cupola again, observing the scene with her own eyes. The evidence of battle was everywhere. Bullet holes covered cars like some sort of pox, and the husks of smoke grenades lay at random around the place. Everything pointed to barely averted disaster.

Her vehicle pulled up alongside the stone stairway to the main entrance, beside the marble supports now chipped and ugly from the alien weaponry and blackened with soot. A young woman poked her head out of the door, and said something in Chinese. Cassandra just waited. There was no need to scare anyone.

A minute afterwards, the huge double doors swung open, and a whole squad of cops stepped out along with a brace of civilians. Some were injured, others just looked like they could fall asleep and wake up in a thousand years. They covered the sides of the buildings. The sound of fighting was still present. Cassandra saluted them. They had fought and survived in a situation that she doubted she would have.

"Captain Cassandra DeRuyter, 3rd Colonial Infantry, Republic of South Africa, African Union," she said from her tank, "Who is in command here?"

The crowd turned to one person. A thin woman with black hair nodded and advanced. Her left arm was in a sling and she held a pistol in her right hand. Her uniform was probably the bloodiest of them all, and some of the blood was blue. Cassandra was a little impressed, if that meant what she thought it did.

"Major Jennifer Connolly, at your service ma'am," she said in an English accent, "Gendarmerie, European Union Colonial Administration."

Cassandra glanced at the crowd, and then back to the police officer.

"Well, Major Connolly, you did very well to hold out against the enemy for this long," she said, "I can honestly say that I am impressed."

"The birds hate tear gas and bullets, Captain DeRuyter," the officer replied, "The gas fucks with them in ways I don't care to mention, but it worked."

Cassandra grimaced, thinking she needed to get her hands on some of the gas if it could hold off the sort of military assault these people had endured. A number of the other cops had grenade launchers, perhaps there was some of the stuff left. The gunfire in the distance was beginning to die down, but they would need every advantage once they got into a fight with real numbers of the enemy.

"Will we be evacuated?" Major Connolly asked, "We have wounded and none of us are soldiers."

"If you mean off-world, I'm afraid the enemy appears to control of space," Cassandra said with hesitation, "This is a full-scale invasion, no one is being evacuated until the colony is relieved."

"What about New Weinan, can we be moved there?" Connolly continued. The look of hope in the eyes of the survivors began to get to Cassandra. She had given them hope, but now she had to crush it. Beck's warnings about the importance of what they were out to accomplish echoed in her head. More now than ever, she believed him. Anything to stop this madness was worth her time.

"My mission is not the protection of civilians, and unfortunately I must leave within two hours to continue to my objective," the Captain said, "But I'm sure some arrangements can be made before..."

The comms alarmed in interruption, and Cassandra turned her attention to it quickly.

"This is Lieutenant Smith, Third Platoon has cleared our sector. We've taken casualties, but nothing we can't handle. We caught them entirely by surprise, no survivors."

Cassandra's heart lifted. It was a complete victory.

She congratulated the lieutenant on his work, and ordered him to hold position. No need to cause a traffic jam in the centre of the town just yet. Turning back to the police and their wards, she smiled at them.

"We've just eliminated the last of the aliens in the area," said Cassandra, "Gather your things, we'll find you somewhere a little more comfortable and talk about what happens next."

"Thank you," said Connolly, saluting. The police officer turned around, and began organising her people to leave. The group went back into the building, their caution abandoned and replaced with relief. They even seemed more energetic as they began gathering various essentials together. Cassandra knew she had done the right thing. Driving by as these people were rounded up would have killed her as certainly as an alien bullet.

"DeRuyter, this is Beck, are you there?" said the comms, "Switch over, quickly!"

Cassandra switched to the American channel. The man had a fire lit under his ass about something.

"Captain Beck, what's going on?" she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Our air defence sensors are tracking something huge inbound on the town," Beck said quickly, "Like a god-damned asteroid or something, it'll impact in less than a minute!"

Cassandra looked up quickly, searching the skies for what he was talking about. It wasn't an asteroid. Burning metal flying off of it, a space station was falling from orbit. It was getting bigger and bigger by the second, and it would almost certainly hit the town. Her elation turned to abject horror, as she watched the improvised orbital strike crash towards her troops.

"Oh fuck."

* * *

_**Alliance Forward Fleet Base Arcturus**_

The simulator reset itself for the last exercise of the night. The last of many. It was past midnight, and Admiral Drescher was still apparently unsatisfied with the performance of the pilots. The enemy ships had been programmed on the basis of their initial attacks, as well as the engagements of the Shanxi garrison flotilla. The fleet hadn't won a real victory yet. They had won about half the simulations on technicalities, but the casualties had been high. It had been two days of complete defeats or "unacceptable" victories.

Hannah yawned as her screens reset. Simulations were good practice, but they lacked the same feeling as real flying. They existed mostly to test the coordination of wolfpacks and flotillas, particularly between the pilots. The real ships were too valuable to risk on such a thing, and each vessel was receiving last minute refits at any rate. The enemy tactics were rigid and predictable, and the night had been spent performing pinpoint manoeuvres passed down from higher up. Still, the aliens were able to win. It was boring at best, utterly demoralising at worst.

As the simulation briefing started for what felt like the hundredth time, Hannah peeked through her tired eyelids to see a vid-link request in the corner of her screen. It was Mari. Her eyes widened slightly, and she quickly tapped her interface to open it.

"You as bored as I am?" Mari asked hastily. The woman began yawning widely while running her hand through her hair. Hannah frowned at her friend. She was up to something.

"I just want to get this last simulation done, and then collapse into bed," Hannah replied carefully, trying not to play along with the scheme of things, "It's going to start any minute, pay attention."

Mari smiled coyly, ready to make the proposal. The inevitable scheme that would get them both thrown to a court-martial.

"Hey, do you want to make this more interesting?" she said, eyebrow raised suggestively.

Hannah sighed, shaking her head. She knew that look, and knew she was going to get in trouble regardless of whether or not she participated. Reluctantly, she decided to hear her friend out.

"Okay, what do you have in mind?" she conceded, supporting her head on her palm.

"We should go on the attack," Mari stated, her eyes flashing with enthusiasm inappropriate for the hour of the day, "They've been trying to get us to lure the aliens in, right? I say we charge for once."

Hannah snorted her amusement at the idea. They'd get blown to bits almost immediately if they did that, never mind what would happen if their superiors didn't appreciate the joke. They were practising coordinated fleet manoeuvres, not playing around. It was so whimsical as to be absurd.

"Just like that?" said Hannah, humouring the situation.

"Yes, just like that!" Mari continued, "We need to show what we can do, and the admiral's been unhappy about the progress from the wolfpack anyway, so she won't care if we try it once."

Something occurred to Hannah upon hearing this. Pieces of information fell into place slowly, the course of the day's drills and exercises providing the details. A mad idea grew. Something that shouldn't have even been contemplated. She felt her fatigue rush away, as excitement flooded her mind. It had to be tried. She knew what to do.

"Alright, let's do it," Hannah declared, straightening herself in her chair, "Follow my lead."

Mari tilted her head, obviously not certain what she was hearing. Unsurprising, as it was usually Hannah who shot down her more unwise ideas.

"Are you sure?" she said, confused now.

"Yeah, I've got this," Hannah replied, "Just keep up with me, and keep this vid-link open."

Mari nodded, and turned her attention back to her own screen. The briefing had ended, and the countdown to the simulated transition had begun. Hannah checked her interface and grabbed the controls, ready for the fight to come.

The battle started as it had the last couple of times before. The Second Fleet dropped into the Shanxi system from the mass relay, and drew up in a spherical formation to offer battle. The dreadnoughts were in the centre of the formation, with the cruisers forming the second layer and the frigates on the outside. It was designed to counteract the flanking attacks of an enemy possessing superior numbers, something that the turians had attempted at every battle to date. Sure enough, as they had in every previous simulation, the turian fleet moved out from Shanxi's orbit to engage. Hannah watched, noting the directions of the enemy cruiser and frigate groups when they dropped out of FTL.

The dreadnoughts began their artillery duel. This had heavily favoured the aliens in every other simulation. The enemy didn't just sit back though. Their formation split from its diamond shape, and the enemy cruisers moved to envelop, as they had in every previous instance.

"Frigate wolfpacks, enemy frigates on approach, prepare to engage."

The order came down as it had before, but this time, Hannah did not follow it. Every time the Alliance frigates had engaged with their turian opponents, they were attacked at knife-fight ranges and destroyed. In almost all of the previous simulations, the enemy frigates were destroyed by the GARDIAN defences of the Alliance cruisers, but the tide turned decisively in favour of the aliens after that. The turian tech advantage gave them the victory in that sort of fight. Hannah decided she wasn't going to play that game.

"Spin up your FTL core," she said calmly, doing the same for her own ship, "I'm sending you the destination now."

"Heh, that's more like it," Mari replied. At least she approved. Their superiors seemed less than approving.

"Carillon, Narvik, this is the Perseus, why have you begun FTL sequences?" said a comms officer. The flagship was asking what she was doing, which meant Drescher was asking. Hannah licked her lips, not daring to reply. She waited for the enemy cruisers to start their attack. About thirty seconds later, the two fleets began exchanging fire. On her monitor, her ship's sensors registered the discharges of the mass-accelerators.

The turian cruisers and frigates pulled into positions around the Alliance formation, and Hannah saw her chance. "Now Mari," she said, before activating her ship's engines. The simulator screen strobed red warnings as the ship jumped to FTL for a few seconds and then decelerated again.

Right behind the turian dreadnoughts.

Hannah quickly dove her frigate into a sharp turn, bringing the bow of her ship to bear on the rear of the nearest enemy vessel. Mari's own ship copied the move, and the two ships fell in to attack. Shepard quickly linked her GARDIAN laser and railgun controls, as she closed to optimum range.

The turian dreadnought they had chosen as a target began to turn. Hannah cursed. The alien bastard was pulling a Crazy Ivan so he could bring his point defence weapons to bear on her ship. The other two were out of range to assist, but began to move away too. Of course, this meant that they would be unable to fire his main weapon at the fleet, accomplishing the point of the attack in the first place, but Hannah wanted to come out of this one intact as well.

The two pilots jerked their ships to the right as the enemy ship turned left. Thankfully, the Carillon and Narvik were some of the most agile ships in the Alliance fleet, and Hannah just managed to keep the enemy weapons off of her long enough.

"Enemy in range," chimed her targeting VI.

Hannah smirked. She couldn't believe her idea had worked. She squeezed the trigger with far more force than she needed to. Her cannon shots simply bounced off the enemy shields harmlessly, their kinetic force cancelled by the barriers, but the lasers couldn't be blocked. The enemy's left side engine pods were carved to shreds, sections of them melting off, stopping the ship's turn sequence dead. Mari followed up with shots of her own, and the dreadnought found itself dead in space.

"Firing torpedoes," Hannah reported, before flicking her hand down the launch sequence commands for her entire complement of the weapons. They were assured to do damage, now that the enemy couldn't manoeuvre and the frigates were too close to use decoys.

Hannah watched the six torpedoes fly from her bow via the external camera, and followed them on her screen as they impacted the rear of the enemy ship. They struck the shields, detonating cleanly. Mari added her own salvo, but the effect was far more spectacular. The back of the enemy ship broke off from the hull, the LADAR system indicating shattered armour plates and engines floating away from it.

They had done it. They had poked the turians in the eye, even if it only was a simulation. Hannah slumped into her chair and watched enemy ship as it slowly spun on its axis, no longer a threat.

"Carillon, Narvik, you have an enemy frigate force closing to engage," the Perseus' comm officer reported, "Retreat immediately."

Hannah turned her attention back to the infrared scanners, and found half the enemy's light ships moving in for the kill. Straightening up, she grabbed her controls once again and redirected her ship. The path back to the Alliance formation was blocked and skirting around the enemy was too risky. The enemy was now determined to put holes in her. She turned the ship towards Shanxi.

The FTL core activated again, and a minute later, she entered orbit. Mari had followed her, and together, they prepared for a last stand, turning their ships towards where they thought the enemy would come from. Sure enough, a squadron of enemy ships appeared seconds afterwards.

The pair opened fire on them immediately, but the enemy shields held. They weren't closing in, but stood off. Hannah growled to herself. The turians were using their superiority in shielding and numbers. The torpedoes were the only thing that could have made a difference, but they were still reloading. There was nothing she could do. In a few minutes, her shields would fail.

"Well, at least we got the big one," Mari remarked cheerily, "That has to count for something."

"I think I'll sleep a lot better tonight," Hannah said, setting her weapons to autotarget and stretching in her seat. There was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable. She watched the enemy shots impact her shields, draining them with every hit. She tried to dodge as many of the shots as she could with some complex turns. It wasn't working.

As her kinetic barriers were about to fail, the rest of the wolfpack dropped out of FTL behind the turian frigates.

The other pilots rallied to the attack, and a wave of torpedoes filled Hannah's screens. The enemy ships desperately tried to dodge, the squadron breaking up into groups of three as they were chased by death. The shots were clean on most of them, and those that were hit were destroyed. Shanxi's orbit began filling up with debris as reactor cores detonated and hulls tore, spraying heat and LADAR contacts over the sensor screens. Hannah watched in disbelief at the carnage.

"_Enemy retreating. Alliance Fleet losses acceptable. Decisive Victory,_"concluded the simulation computer, before the screens shut off.

Hannah jumped out of her seat, and exited her sim-pod to find Mari.

"Told you we should make it more interesting," said the Scandinavian, a wide smile on her face.

Hannah laughed and hugged her friend. The exhilaration was intoxicating. They had beaten the aliens completely. The rest of the pilots began appearing, and Hannah found herself lifted on the shoulders of their comrades to the sounds of cheering. Maybe they would all kick ET's ass after all.

* * *

Admiral Kastanie Drescher watched her pilots cheer with crossed arms, as they carried the two rogues around. The simulation room below was a riot of tired happiness. They were drunk on the experience of winning after repeated failures. Drescher could barely believe what she had seen.

It was hard for her to deny that it was in fact a win, however. The frigates' attack on the dreadnought completely threw the turians. They had been forced to turn, granting a reprieve to Drescher's dreadnoughts and cruisers. To make matters worse, the tactical computer determined that it was most likely that the turians would also recall their own frigates to counteract the threat, leaving her own wolfpacks to range at will against the enemy cruisers. The Admiral knew it was a conditional win, but she could recreate such conditions if need-be.

"Well, that was unexpected," said a voice behind her. Drescher turned, and found Jon Grissom leaning against the desk, eyes fixed on the jubulant helmsmen. Unexpected was an understatement of the situation.

"That wasn't what I ordered," Drescher said firmly, before turning back to the window, "Not to mention, those two got extremely lucky."

"There's nothing wrong with luck in military action, it is said that Napoleon promoted his lucky officers," Grissom continued, joining her at the glass, "But I think some skill was involved here as well. They came to the same conclusions for dealing with the dreadnoughts, and executed it damn near perfectly."

"Except I intended to use fighters, frigates are a little too expensive to risk," Drescher said, correcting her counterpart, "If the turians had any sort of point defences at the rear of their ships, we would have lost two frigates and then the battle."

"Yet they don't, which I think says a lot about them," Grissom mused, "It says a lot about those two pilots that they were able to act on that weakness too."

Drescher sighed. Even if he was the first human to leave the Sol system, Grissom was tediously easy to read if you knew him well enough. When he wanted something, he made it painfully obvious. Rather than draw it out, she decided to get to the point.

"You want to put them through the gauntlet, don't you?" she said, turning to her fellow admiral now and looking him dead in the eyes. The American's eyes gleamed with what she thought could only be mischief as they avoided contact with her own.

"I think they're the best candidates for the job that I've seen so far, yes," Grissom said, "They have the capability and the will to do what is going to be required of them."

Drescher growled a curse, shaking her head.

"First, you take my fleet's best N7, and now you want two of my frigate pilots," she said, "I'm going to need every one of my people if we're going to retake Shan'xi. The nations of the Alliance are already bickering over the situation, I need to be ready to pounce when they finally get their act together."

Grissom's face hardened.

"The future of our entire species could depend on the success of Operation Valkyrie, so excuse me if I try to assemble the very best," he said, clearly irritated, "Assuming that the turians do indeed lack carriers, your job is going to be a lot easier than these wargames are implying."

Drescher grimaced. She didn't like to make assumptions. The turians were a total-war culture, or so the experts said. It didn't seem possible that they lacked something that humanity had taken as granted for centuries. Despite what was at least three major battles now, and a number of skirmishes, the threat of carrier-borne fighter attacks had failed to materialise. The optimists said this was because it didn't exist, but the Admiral feared that humanity was so small a threat to these aliens that it didn't require the deployment of such assets. Which is why she was drilling her fleet hard on the assumption that they would need to best the enemy with or without superiority in fighters.

"We don't even know what system the aliens come from, never mind the true composition of their fleets and armies," Drescher said, "I think simply saying that we have an advantage over the enemy without good intelligence is dangerous."

Grissom half-nodded, conceding the point. The other admiral was a reasonable man, a fact for which she was thankful. "Alright, give me the pilots and I'll make it up to you somehow," he said at last, "After all, they will be put to use in finding out everything we need to know about the enemy."

Drescher thought about the offer for a moment. Regardless of how the tactic came to be, attacking the enemy dreadnoughts in the way her two pilots had seemed like it would be more effective than simply using them to counteract the enemy's own. It had been luck that they were able to pull it off in the simulation, but with good coordination, it could be made to work on a larger scale.

"I can think of one thing," Drescher replied, "We could use more frigates for the counterattack."

Grissom smiled. "Have your pilots given you an idea?" he asked.

"I suppose they have," she said, "Although I can't ignore their disregard for orders, I can commend their tactical sense. They're yours to deal with now."

The other admiral laughed, clearly pleased that he had gotten what he wanted.

"May I ask the names of my two new friends?" said Grissom.

Drescher brought her data tablet to hand from the desk, and scrolled through a list to find the necessary files.

"Flight Lieutenants Hannah Shepard and Mari Stokke," she said, handing over the tablet.


	4. Chapter 3: Flames

**Chapter Three: Flames**

The sky was orange and black. The light of the fires reflected off the clouds and plumes of smoke rising. Almost the entire town was being consumed by flames. Even before the space station had crashed a large part had been set on fire during the fighting, but those had been matches compared to the furnace that now burned through the streets of Chang'an. Three huge gashes, metres deep and hundreds wide, had been torn through the city blocks. Buildings and roads made way or were smashed to nothing. Dust and dirt had flown into the air, and coated much of the ground. It was as if a huge dragon had attacked the city, spouting the flames from its mouth and clawing at the ground, before flying off again to attack some other town. It was hell.

Cassandra wiped sweat off her forehead, watching the scene from the steps of the provincial house as she leaned on a marble pillar to support herself. The heat still wasn't dying down after hours of relentless rise, and it was enough to make anyone feel uncomfortable. The city was unrecognisable from the quiet colony town she had spied less than six hours previously. The faces of the colonists arriving by foot and by vehicle were evidence enough of that alone, without the need to walk through the shattered buildings and streets. The people themselves had been shattered.

"So this is war..." Cassandra muttered to herself, as civilians filed past her. God help them, they actually looked pleased to see her. Some said their thanks in their own language, and she just nodded her welcome back to them. She felt numb. She had seen combat before, dealing with fanatics back on Earth, but this was new to her. An enemy that wasn't just the badly armed religious fundamentalist with a chip on their shoulder about the state of the universe. A determined, capable enemy that had managed to kill who knew how many of her soldiers. And the civilians looked to her to defeat them.

The doubts grew in her mind, even as her determination to kill as many of the invaders as possible remained.

"Captain," said a voice from behind.

Cassandra turned, and found Major Connolly behind her, still bloody from head to toe. The police officer held two mugs, one held out for her, the other grasped with her spare hand, restrained by her sling.

"Major," she replied, accepting the drink gratefully. It was hot tea. Not the best idea when the air was shimmering from the heat, but she drank it deeply as soon as she got a good hold on the cup. The ashes and dust had made her very thirsty. The liquid was bitter, but its edge had been taken off with a little sugar. The Captain nodded her thanks and took a second gulp, as she turned back to look out over the plaza again. The police officer joined her, sitting down on the steps, to her surprise.

"I'd like to thank you again," Connolly started.

"I don't speak Chinese, but I think all I've been hearing for three hours is people giving thanks," Cassandra said, "You don't need to add your own, I've already been thanked more than I deserve."

Connolly waved at the train of refugees making their way across the public space to safety, or what they thought of as safety. The plaza was getting congested with vehicles, military and civilian. Cassandra was suddenly glad. Glad that she had ordered that her own tanks be positioned on the outside of the space, and glad that far more of the population had survived than she had thought.

"Every single one of us is alive and free because of what you did," said Connolly, "I would be dead, so would all my officers, and the rest of them would be in some alien lab."

Cassandra pushed herself off from the marble, and stood up straight. What the Major was saying was true in the strict sense, but she was still uneasy about accepting any credit for lives saved. She was going to have to write far too many letters to the partners and children of the dead when this was over. The political consequences didn't bear thinking about either. She could lose her commission over what could only be seen as a debacle. Particularly if what everyone was saying was true, that the Alliance was in charge now. She had defied orders from the Alliance planetary commander, after all. She sighed in frustration.

"The aliens dumped a space station on our heads for the trouble," Cassandra said finally, "With determination like that, we might all still end up as corpses."

"You'll protect us," said Connolly immediately and with complete certainty.

Cassandra scoffed. Just completing their original objective would be a tall order now. Colonel Ryan might not even agree to allow the civilians to stay once they reached Xi'an Valley itself. Beck was probably already planning to leave them behind. Cassandra wasn't sure if she could convince either.

"If I can," she said, as she spotted the last of the civilians entering in front of Lieutenant Botha's platoon. The cars were tiny compared to the bulk of the infantry fighting vehicles, but they kept up good speed.

"Major Connolly, would you join me in about an hour, for my briefing?" she added, "I need someone to represent the civilians."

The officer stood up from the steps and took another sip of tea before speaking.

"By all means."

The Captain hummed her approval, and turned on her comms. There was a lot to discuss before they finally moved out. Hopefully, the smoke and heat from the fires would conceal them from orbital reconnaissance for a little while longer.

* * *

The office of the provincial governor was surprisingly sparse for a room that was supposed to house an elected leader within a matter of months. The only thing inside that hadn't been dragged in was a large desk, planted near the wall opposite the door, and huge, empty bookcases. The windows were shattered, but the glass had been tidied up and the empty panes covered with planks of wood. Chairs had been scrounged from better used rooms of the building, which were being taken by the remaining lieutenants of C Company and their two guests.

Cassandra herself sat in the Governor's chair. It was still packed in clear plastic sheeting and had been recovered from a cupboard or storeroom somewhere as far as she could tell. It was very comfortable, and she felt she needed a little of that considering what had happened. She looked up from her tablet as the officers took their seats, and watched them for a moment to gauge their mood.

Lieutenants Botha and Sinha, of the First and Second platoons respectively, both looked as tired as Cassandra felt. She knew that this was because they had both coordinated the search for survivors and bodies after the orbital strike, and both women were the kind to command from the front. The bags under their eyes and their slight slouching in the chairs was enough to tell that they had seen carnage. However, they were both still standing for the moment and they would both need to stay that way.

Zibonele seemed fine, on the other hand. The chief of reconnaissance looked like he was ready to run a marathon. This was despite him having been awake as long as anyone else and coordinating the perimeter defences with Captain Beck. Cassandra wondered it was because he had not been exposed to the same pressures as the other two lieutenants. Regardless, the man's physical and mental resiliance was famous in the company, so she was very glad to see that he was unfazed by the events of the past number of hours. If he had been shaken, there would have been a panic.

Beck himself wore a grim look on his face that said he was displeased about being proven correct. Cassandra could not help but admit to herself that his initial appraisal of the situation had been dead on. Their path to Colonel Ryan had been sidetracked for much longer than she had wanted. She did not regret the path she took, but she had to acknowledge that at the very least. Her respect for the man had grown as a result, and she hoped he would continue to respect her given the situation.

The last participant was Major Connolly, a lot less bloody now after washing her face and changing into a fresh uniform. The cop was coolly observing the others, with another cup of tea in hand. Afraid that the others would want to leave her and the civilians behind, Cassandra guessed.

The Captain put down her tablet, and cleared her throat.

"Nandi, what is the final word on the casualties and equipment losses," she said.

Lieutenant Botha brushed some hair out of her face, and opened a small notepad she had on hand. Her voice broke slightly as she started to speak, but she recovered quickly.

"We've found only five survivors from Third Platoon, Captain," she said, "No wounded, and almost all of those killed in action remain unaccounted for. There is no sign of Lieutenant Smith."

Cassandra's felt her throat tighten with fear and anger. She had not expected it to be that bad.

"How many were in the platoon?" Beck asked softly.

"Sixty men and women under arms," Nandi replied, looking at the ceiling, unable to make eye contact with the man.

Beck pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as he kneaded it.

"Five out of sixty," he said, "Jesus Christ."

The American looked at his fellow captain with pity, which was the last thing Cassandra wanted. She averted her eyes quickly.

"Any idea what it was?" Cassandra asked, changing the subject, "Re-entry heat wouldn't set the town on fire, would it?"

"We found an ID plate intact by the western edge of town," Zibonele replied, "It was SNXR-3, an orbital crude oil storage facility. The planetary record says that it regularly filled up tankers for transport back to Earth. Something about it being cheaper than recovery from Titan back in Sol."

"The kinetic barriers must have stayed operational until it hit," Sinha added, "Otherwise it would have exploded in the atmosphere. So when it crashed, the hull tore open, the oil spilled all over town and caught fire."

Cassandra looked out of the window at the orange flames and black smoke for a moment. It certainly made sense that the station had been an oil warehouse, but something else was off. Except for a few gimmicks, the aliens had near-complete technological superiority. It didn't seem very characteristic of them to rely on such a crude method of orbital bombardment.

"We might be luckier that it did start a fire," said Beck, "There's no way the aliens are getting good orbital scans on us right now. No chance you can pick out armoured vehicles under that heat and smoke."

"We'll be moving on as soon as possible to made good use of that," Cassandra said, turning back, "But first, we need to talk about a couple of things. How many of Third Platoon's vehicles survived?"

"Just one," replied Sinha, "It was tasked with collecting three of our wounded from a building that wasn't hit. The five survivors are those three plus the driver and commander. "

A quarter of the troops lost and a third of the armoured vehicles destroyed, in a single stroke. Cassandra began to wonder how many would be left at the end of the mission, if any at all would be. She needed good news.

"Zibonele, have we recovered any alien weapons?" she asked.

"Almost all of them were destroyed or damaged in the impact," the scout reported, clearly having anticipated the question in advance, "The few we still have seem to have started malfunctioning. Our combat engineers think they overheated when we were test-firing them. We were trying to see how many shots they could fire on automatic, because the weapons don't seem to have magazines. "

"What do you mean?" Beck asked, getting there before Cassandra, "What do they fire?"

"Small metal objects, far smaller than any bullet," Zibonele replied, "The weapons seem to use mass effect fields as the main firing mechanism."

"I can confirm that," Connolly said, "We never found a bullet in any of our wounded when they were attacking us."

Cassandra remembered the sound of the invaders' weapons hitting her own vehicle. When she inspected the front of it later, it had been pitted and dented deeply. She shuddered at the thought of the aliens' small arms being able to damage armoured vehicles. An idea occurred to her as she thought about the exact phrase her lead scout had used.

"Would their weapons be vulnerable to EMP attacks like their vehicles were?" she asked.

"No idea," said Zibonele, "It's possible, they do use electrical energy to function like our railgun tech. They might be disabled temporarily or permanently depending on the design."

"Another advantage to us then?" asked Nandi.

"Definitely worth trying," Cassandra said, remembering how the alien hovercraft simply fell down when Sinha hit it with an EMP round, "We've commandeered the remaining supply of tear gas grenades from Major Connolly's stockpiles as well, they are apparently very effective."

"The birds seem to have never come across the stuff," the police officer added, "We were on the run until we decided to try it, and after that the aliens just hung back, shooting at anything they saw moving in here. Guess they weren't issued gas masks."

"The next gang of 'birds' will be," said Beck sternly, "I guarantee it."

"We'll try it again anyway, it could give us an advantage to reach Colonel Ryan," said Cassandra, "Connolly, pack as many as you can into as few vehicles as possible, don't let them take anything unnecessary and have your officers coordinate the convoy."

"Hold up," said Beck, standing from his seat, "You can't bring the civilians along."

Cassandra sighed. She knew he would object, the mission was what he was concerned about most. She might have agreed as well, had she not witnessed the state of the town during the attack. She just didn't have enough information to ignore the variable of alien abduction. If Beck did, he wasn't sharing.

"What other choice do we have?" she said, "The aliens will take the civilians if we don't bring them with us. We have a duty to protect them, it's what the Alliance is for in the first place."

"General Williams gave us the order to link up with Colonel Ryan, the Alliance has a plan for us. The civilians will slow us down, and if we have to fight, they'll be in the firing line," said Beck, not letting the matter drop, "They come with us, they'll be massacred for sure."

Cassandra was unable to reply. An image of the column caught on the road by a huge enemy army forced its way to the front of her mind. People fleeing the battle being cut down or dragged off by the invaders, her troops unable to manoeuvre because of a traffic jam of buses and cars. The idea choked her response. She still believed that they had to save the townspeople, but the American's logic was undeniable. She simply stared at the man, trying to work out some way to reconcile her twin instincts of wanting to protect her fellow human beings and wanting to insure that trying to do so wouldn't get them all killed.

She hadn't counted on Connolly.

"Captain DeRuyter, my people are capable of fighting in their own right," the police officer said loudly, "We certainly did so before you arrived, and will do again. Most people were caught unaware, but this is a frontier town. They take care of their own and they're tough for it. I don't know what your mission is or why it is so important, but we have the right to try and fight at least!"

All eyes turned to the police officer, surprise plastered on their faces. Talking like that to an officer wasn't something they were used to, even if she was a police major. Cassandra looked at her counterpart. Beck stood for a moment in exasperation, before finally sitting down again.

"Okay Major, but if you come, you fight," said Beck, conceding even in tone, "If I catch anyone slacking or skulking off when the fight comes, I'll shoot them myself."

Connolly glanced over at Cassandra for a moment, and waited for her response. She nodded slightly, indicating her agreement with her counterpart. There could be no cowardice in the face of the enemy, not now. It could spell the doom of everyone.

"Then we have terms," Connolly said, turning back to the rest.

Cassandra smiled, glad that order had been restored and her doubts put to rest. For the moment, at least. She stood up, and the others followed suit, realising the time for talk had ended.

"If you'd be so kind as to lead the way, Captain Beck, we'll complete our mission,"

* * *

The long line of ground vehicles took up both lanes of the black road. First the smaller armoured ones with four wheels and machinegun turrets. Reconnaissance types, probably. Afterwards, the larger, more formidable infantry carriers with heavy weapons. Definitely the main contingent. A variety of unarmoured transports and artillery vehicles came next. Police vehicles, ambulances, firefighting trucks and buses. The militia forces making do, escorted by the artillery corps. Finally, the rearguard, a mix of the recon and armoured types.

Lieutenant Adrien Victus watched the primitives' convoy exit the black veil of smoke two by two, as he lay in the grass about a palavese mile away. He had almost led his platoon right into the open the moment the enemy had started to move, and just barely got to cover in time to watch them leave the town designated Settlement 23. Their exit appeared as a giant serpent, leaving its nest. An appropriate comparison, to his mind. He had been impressed before he saw them personally, and he judged that instinct to be entirely correct upon laying eyes on their orderly retreat. A formidable beast indeed, and one he intended to help slay.

"Nothing on comms, sir," said a young private beside him quietly, "Nothing friendly or primitive."

Victus grimaced. That wasn't good news. He needed to know their intentions.

"Wait, I'm getting something now," the private said, tapping his omnitool to try and hone in on the signal. Victus waited patiently, continuing to watch the convoy. The serpent slithered down the shape of the road, unaware it was being watched.

"It's gibberish sir, the VI translation can't make anything of it."

Victus scowled at the young soldier. Since contact had been made in orbit around Relay 314, the signals intelligence division had managed to decipher the primitives' languages in record time. The first of them had been used by the primitives' navy, and it was later discovered that their ground forces and civilians used it too. It was assumed that it was some sort of trade language, and so most spoke it. The second had only been partly mapped, but it was of an entirely different sort and was spoken only by civilians. Wondering if it was a simple malfunction, he activated his own omni to listen in.

The language was unlike anything he had heard before. There was clicking in the course of the speech, and it was more lyrical than the other two languages. Victus felt himself stirred just from hearing it, as if the rhythm itself was calling him to move. He turned off his omnitool, and sighed.

"What is it, sir?" the private asked.

"Either these primitives are extremely multilingual, or they've switched over to some high military cant," the lieutenant replied, "Either way, it's a problem. Get me General Orinia, she's going to want a report."


	5. Chapter 4: The Otherside

**Chapter Four: The Otherside**

The camp was arranged in a strict grid structure. Pavements of unrolled plastic filling the space between prefabricated barracks, surrounded by talon-wire fences and trenchworks. The intersections played host to emplacements, guarded by two soldiers a piece. The guards were always young and eager; it was a duty for cooling off the hotheads. All watched by watchtowers, their heavy machineguns poking out from the armoured plate sides. The typical forward operating camp of a turian brigade. It stretched on, large enough to accommodate five thousand soldiers.

It all made Victus feel as safe as he would have been had he been on Menae itself. So familiar were the surroundings, he felt like he was back in basic training. However, the war they were fighting was more complex than anything that experience had ever taught him. He stepped off of his transport shuttle at the makeshift landing pad, and strode into the camp.

"Lieutenant Victus, General Orinia is this way," said an NCO, before leading on. An escort of five troops fell in behind them, as the shuttle dusted off into the overcast night sky to fly another mission. The lieutenant watched it fly past, tracking it with his eyes for a moment as he walked, wondering what the hurry was.

They paced through the checkpoints without stopping, nearly at running speed. Not a good sign, Victus decided. He began to fear that his hard-won promotion to a commissioned command was in jeopardy. After all, he hadn't made it in time to attack the primitives when they were bottled up and demoralised after the orbital strike. Even if he had, they were far more numerous than he had been informed, and their use of chemical weapons would have given him pause had it not been a direct order.

And now, he had been summoned, seemingly with great haste.

They arrived at the general's quarters, and the NCO opened the door. Victus nodded his thanks to his fellow soldiers, and entered. The room was filled with information equipment; a holographic projector table, haptic interfaces, and data tablets. The general was supporting herself on the table, a map of the region that he had just been in hovered over her wrists. She looked up, revealing her red colonial markings from the northern continent of her homeworld. She waved him over, and he complied, joining her at the map.

"Lieutenant, Palaven Command is not happy," Orinia said after a sigh, "The primitives destroyed the first hastatim group deployed with contemptuous ease. If our satellites hadn't spotted the enemy vehicles in time to organise an orbital strike, we might even be looking at a counterattack. Then you report that they're using yet another language, seemingly entirely unrelated to the previous two, one that no information banks we've captured thus far has a translation for, and that the enemy is heading west along the main route."

Orinia moved her hand in a sweeping motion over the hologram interface, and the map changed to a wider view of the continent. The main roads and railways glowed red and blue respectively, sparse though they were, and the destroyed Settlement 23 was marked in a fiery orange surrounding a black icon of a housing unit. Victus grimaced, thinking on how appropriate a colour choice that was.

"We're both in trouble, lieutenant," the general continued, "The Hierarchy is going to land regular infantry formations to replace us in a matter of days, they think that keeping an advanced reconnaissance unit locked up in a planetary siege is a waste of resources. They're probably right, but if we leave this place without something to show for it, our unit's honour and record will be forever tainted. And we'll be demoted."

The general hung her head in frustration. Victus looked over the map quickly, tracing the roads west where the enemy column was moving. There was nothing for hundreds of miles as far as he could tell. The road eventually crossed a mountain range and ended up in another settlement, but that was thousands of miles without supply. Too far to hope to make it against a turian adversary. He wondered what they were doing.

"General, these barbarians don't fight like anything we've trained against or prepared for," he said quickly, "Let me go out ahead of them. They're moving west for a reason, I can discover why and we'll stop them from succeeding at whatever it is they're trying to do. We can destroy or capture them once their goals are put beyond their reach."

The general's head twitched upwards, and her eyes locked on his. Victus clenched his jaw, unsure if he had spoken out of turn and was about to be disciplined. Instead, Orinia simply slapped him on the shoulder and smirked.

"Good to see the spirit of the Ghost Brigade still inspires," she said, slightly more cheerily now, "But we already know what they want."

She turned to the hologram controls again, and the map zoomed in. Settlement 23 appeared at one end, the road alongside it tracked through the countryside to a huge valley. The area seemed to be filled with thick foliage, with the occasional clearing or lake, but no towns or structures of any kind except a single fuel station. Orinia waved her open hand, and the valley was highlighted. Victus was confused. There was absolutely nothing of military value to be seen.

"I don't understand, General," said Victus, "Is there something there that the map doesn't show? Bunkers perhaps?"

The general nodded.

"Astute as always, Victus," she said, "The humans want to develop this whole continent. The town the hastatim were... clearing was to be the provincial capital, and this valley was to be the breadbasket once the forests were cleared. Naturally, the primitives set up colonial defences in the wilderness, to be absorbed by the new communities for other purposes when ready. Our VI viruses in their local extranet gave us the entire civilian development plan."

Victus looked at the valley again. It was a defensible position to say the least. The cover from the trees would make detecting the enemy problematic, and if there were bunkers, they could be an insect hive with exits everywhere, making any ground assault difficult. To make matters worse, if an anti-aircraft battery were set up in any number of locations, an aerial assault would be impossible. He saw only one option for an immediate victory.

"Why not level the area?" he said, "Drop an asteroid or space station on them again, or turn the fleet's guns on the location. There's nothing there worth capturing for ourselves, and the ecosystem isn't compatible with our genetics anyway."

Orinia's face darkened again, as she stood away from the table and turned around for a moment. Victus looked on in confusion. He had touched a nerve. What could it be?

"That's the other reason that Palaven Command is angry, although the anger is not directed at us for the moment," she said, "We can't simply bombard the location from orbit."

"Why not?" Victus asked, his bafflement growing to his own irritation.

The General turned around again, and she looked almost ashamed. Victus had never seen such an expression on his commanding officer's face before, and a bolt of fear flew up his spine at the sight. Orinia approached, and stared straight at him at an uncomfortably close distance.

"At the end of that valley is something extremely damaging to the Turian Hierarchy. It could turn this war from a minor pacification conflict into a real shooting war, but more than that, it would destroy the notion of turian military competency and superiority in an instant. It's both an intelligence and PR disaster rolled into one, and the enemy have control of it. We blast them to pieces, word will still get out and we won't know how much the enemy knows. Our entire species will be dishonoured, and the other Citadel species might intervene. It needs to be retaken, and all the primitives who saw it need to be eliminated."

Victus couldn't help but ask.

"What is _it_?"

The General's face twitched for a moment, before settling. The news had clearly taken its toll on her calm, and having to explain it to a subordinate hadn't helped, Victus realised.

"_It_ is more like _they_, two of them to be precise," Orinia said, "But you are not authorised to know anything beyond that, not yet anyway."

Something occurred to the lieutenant, a gut-wrenching thought. The enemy troops were moving west towards the valley, at a blistering pace. They'd reach the target zone in less than thirty six hours, even with a break for rest, which would be required given that citizen militia were now with them.

"They're reinforcing their position, bringing in more troops," he said, "Just enough to help, but maybe a number we would not have noticed. They know what they have is significant."

Orinia nodded. "If they hadn't attacked the hastatim in Settlement 23, we would have ignored the column entirely or perhaps not even detected it," she said, "Which begs the question, why did they attack at all?"

Victus thought on that for a moment. The primitives did appear to have a distinction between civilian and soldier, like the asari did. The turians were all soldiers, and so did not recognise such distinctions, while the salarians would consider civilians legitimate targets as they were part of the economic structure of the enemy. However, the line seemed more blurred than what an asari would consider proper. Several platoons had been attacked by civilians with weapons in various locations around the planet. Which is why the hastatim had been brought planetside in the first place, to pacify the urban areas by giving the citizens a choice between force and surrender.

"Perhaps they thought they could pick up militia to aid their mission," he thought aloud, "Or maybe they simply wanted to save their 'civilians' from the hastatim. Or maybe they really wanted to fight. It could be anything."

"We've learned one thing; the commander of that unit is extremely aggressive," the General said, "Which means you can use her warlust against her. Or him."

Victus smiled. He realised his fears had been dead wrong. It wasn't a dressing down he would be receiving.

"You're being field promoted, and your unit will be reinforced," Orinia continued, "I expect you to maul these primitives before they reach their objective. I don't expect you to destroy them utterly, just weakening them so that the main assault can go more smoothly will suffice. A full briefing packet will be waiting on your shuttle. Get the job done."

Victus saluted, absolutely delighted with himself. A chance to redeem the honour of his unit, and a spot of personal glory as well. He turned to leave.

"One more thing, _Major_," Orinia added, emphasis on his new rank, "Under no circumstances are you to go to the target zone. I can't protect you from the consequences if you see what the humans have taken from us."

The lieutenant's curiosity was dampened immediately, and he inclined his head solemnly to express his compliance. He had no need for the hastatim to come for him in the night. A forced labour camp or a firing squad weren't his idea of a good time.


	6. Chapter 5: Reporting In

**Chapter Five: Reporting In**

_**Alliance Forward Fleet Base Arcturus**_

The blanket slid off as the other occupant of the bed turned, the colder air of the room brushing against the skin softly. The change in temperature prickled. Hannah opened her eyes. The smell of stale sweat from before had disappeared, replaced by chilly recycled air. John breathed quietly and steadily beside her, still dead asleep. She ran her hand along his side, over the blanket, eliciting a slightly sharper intake of breath. Recovering the duvet would be impossible now without waking him. She looked over at the clock, and found she had only a few more minutes of sleep anyway. Groaning, she rose from laying down and sat at the edge of the bed.

The night before had brought many surprises. The elation of their victory had been intoxicating, but shortlived. Flight Lieutenants Hannah Shepard and Mari Stokke were immediately summoned for a brief meeting with Admirals Drescher and Grissom in the tobacco-smelling observation deck above the simulation pod room. Drescher had fun chewing them out loudly for insubordination, and left the room quickly afterwards. Grissom quietly reported that both pilots had been reassigned to his command. It wasn't clear why, and nothing was said of their ships. Hannah kneaded her palms as she thought about it. They would meet Grissom again this morning, and she was half-terrified of what he was going to say.

The alarm went off, blaring coarse noise into the room at a rate that would wake the dead. Hannah jumped. She had lost track of time and was caught by surprise. John stirred, face still planted firmly in pillow, reaching for the clock and slapping the snooze button. His hand then wandered away from the desk and around the bed, searching for her. She grabbed his hand, and squeezed it.

"You're awake?" John asked from the pillow.

"It's cold in here," Hannah responded, laying on the sarcasm thick. Her lover craned his neck, and glanced around. The pilot nodded at the blanket firmly wrapped around the man like a cocoon, leaving the reason for her own nakedness apparent. He looked at himself for a moment, and back at her.

"Ah, sorry," he said, "Guess I was cold too."

Hannah smirked for a moment, accepting the apology with a quick kiss to the idiot's forehead.

"Are you going to be around to speak to Jane with me tonight?" she asked, "We're allowed monitored comms at eighteen hundred."

"I'm not sure," John replied, "Do I have to talk to your mother too?"

Hannah quickly grabbed the pillow and threw it at him as she laughed. He actually got along with the grandmother of his child well, but half of it was mutual joking that they were in fact enemies. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, getting up to shower, "Your sense of humour aside."

"Hold on, we don't have much time," said John, raising himself from the bed with a look of concentration on his face. It was as obvious as always what he was thinking. Hannah rolled her eyes and motioned for him to join her. She needed something to make her feel better anyway.

* * *

Hannah's knuckles rapped sharply on the the door marked "M. Stokke" in the habitation wards. It was across the corridor from her own front door, a convenient twist of luck that allowed the occupant access to her 'niece' on a regular basis. At least, in happier times. The sound of crashing erupted from inside for a moment, followed by some indistinct swearing in a Nordic language, before the blonde Scandinavian pilot herself emerged.

Pleased to see that Mari was wearing her more formal uniform as well, Hannah ignored the look of desperation and nodded her greeting. "I almost slept in," came the explanation, as she buttoned up her jacket, "Thanks for waiting."

Hannah slapped her friend on the back and got moving. She knew she didn't need to ask.

"You don't want to know why I needed to hurry?" asked Mari, as coy as you please.

"I really don't," said Hannah, throwing a look over her shoulder, "But I can guess why anyway."

"No, you can't," replied Mari, her eyes rolling upwards to remember.

"Well, I'm glad you're in a good mood," Hannah continued after a sigh, "I'm dreading this briefing."

"I am sure we will be okay," said Mari with a wave of her hand.

Hannah stopped. "Well, let's see, there's the small matter of insubordination, our new commander is a famous hardass, I can't speak to my daughter without some bored security tech listening in... Oh, and aliens are invading, which means we might have signed ourselves up for a suicide mission with that little stunt in the simulation. Even John couldn't cheer me up, despite trying."

Mari stared for a moment, and a small smile spread across on her face. She amused by Hannah's pessimism. "Don't look at me, you're the one who said to follow your lead," the pilot laughed, "And we won, remember?"

Hannah couldn't help but grimace. It was true. She had gotten them into this mess, and taking it out on Mari was more than a little unfair. Besides, her friend's good spirits were infectious.

"Come on, we have an appointment to make," she said finally, "Let's pick up the pace." Mari shrugged, and began walking. She knew when to back off a little, and Hannah needed some space.

* * *

They had walked silently from the living quarters. Five minutes to the module elevators, another three standing around in one, another seven negotiating the maze that was operations control, and a final five to the First Fleet's briefing room.

The trip was quicker than Hannah had hoped. In half the time it would usually take, she finally rounded the corner into the security checkpoint. It was Silvino's team again, wearing their compulsory heavy armour plate and weaponry. Their leader had opted to keep his helmet open this time, revealing a broad smile on his face.

"Hello Sil, how are you today?" asked Mari cheerfully, before Hannah could speak.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" the Englishman said with a smile, "I'm out of here in two days, transfer to a forward naval infantry post. I get to go kick alien arse just like you will." Silvino proceeded to puff out his chest, banging it with his hands like an ape would.

"Congratulations," said Mari with a smile, "Try not to get your face blown off by some ugly space chicken, please? I'd miss these little chats we have."

"For you, my darling, anything," Silvino replied in a low growling tone, eliciting shakes of the head from his subordinates.

Hannah's eyebrow inched upwards. Did he volunteer for combat service? She had always thought he was just a security guard with a sarcastic attitude. Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, as Silvino turned to her quickly as the approval to enter the briefing room popped up on his tablet.

"To answer the question you are about to ask, I'm rated for combat," he said, "Security details for admirals are N5 at the very least, but someone upstairs thought I might be overqualified for that when ET decided to drop in for a beer and world conquest."

"I would prefer they didn't show at all," Hannah replied, unable to suppress her own smile, "I'm glad you're enthusiastic about it."

"Shepard has been rather down about the whole alien invasion thing, despite our glorious victory last night," Mari declared, "We absolutely hammered the sim."

"I heard about that this morning in the mess," Silvino said, shaking his own head now, "I almost couldn't believe you pulled a stunt like that. Almost."

"Hey, it was Shepard's idea!" said Mari quickly, holding up her hands in protest.

Hannah gave her friend a withering stare for shifting the blame again.

"Really? I thought you were supposed to be the level-headed one?" said Silvino.

"I was tired of getting my ass kicked for hours on end," Hannah replied, "We had to do something."

"Well, you got the attention of Grissom for your trouble," Silvino continued, "Both of you are expected, you better get in there."

Hannah nodded and gave over her ID. The security detail checked them thoroughly, and scanned the pair of pilots for weapons. When they discovered that neither were concealing grenade launchers in nethers of their service uniforms, Silvino leaned over the desk.

"Good luck."

Hannah waved her thanks, and walked through the open doorway with Mari in tow.

The room itself was pretty much identical to the Second Fleet's briefing room; a large soundproofed hemicycle with a podium in the middle and raised seating. The only difference she could see was the huge letter I emblazoned on the wall behind the speaker's rostra, flanked by a stylised Earth and a quiver of arrows. The First Fleet was often called the Home Fleet, humanity's last defence before her homeworld, and they got a lot of the associated prestige of the title. And no small measure of arrogance. Hannah took in the sight for a brief moment, before hearing the call of her new commander.

"Ah, Flight Lieutenants Shepard and Stokke, good of you to join us," Admiral Grissom said, standing beside the first row of seats, "You're right on time."

Hannah flinched. Something she hadn't expected was looking at her. Among the faces looking up at the new arrivals was John's own. What was he doing there? He told her this morning that he had repairs to oversee on the SSV Puebla. Had he lied? Or was he forced to say something other than the truth? They glanced at each other as Mari led the way down the stairs to join the group. He was as surprised as she was. She noticed Anderson's presence at the last second, as her friend surely had as well. Complications abound, she thought.

Unable to do anything about the situation, Hannah took her seat in front of the Admiral and waited. There would be time for questions after. Right now, she needed to concentrate on the problem at hand. Grissom looked the group over, his eyes hovering on Mari and Hannah for longer than they had on the others. He took a breath and climbed up behind the lectern. The display screen flashed to life behind him, a picture of Shanxi appearing with it.

"You have been called for a special mission, one of utmost importance to this war," the Admiral said, "The people in this room represents the Navy's contribution to the coming effort, assembled from all three of our fleets. It's ambitious, but ambitious is the only play at this point. We need to roll the hard six, or everything we care about might be the price we pay."

The group said nothing, not one officer showing an inch of their opinion. Hannah included. The speech was going somewhere, even if it did sound a little too much like a funeral oration. Grissom continued when he was satisfied no one was going to object.

"The first stage of the plan is named Operation Valkyrie. The bottom line is that we have people on Shanxi with valuable intelligence. We still don't know how the aliens fight, what sort of orbital strike assets they bring when they invade, exactly how advanced their tech is or even if they eat the same things we do. The politicians are still figuring out if we want to go all-in this war or attempt negotiations, but we're not going to stand by. We are going to penetrate the enemy siege cordon, embark Army specialists that have been collecting intelligence ever since this started, and get the hell back to Arcturus."

Faces grew darker, as the full consequences of what they were being ordered to do hit them. Hannah herself was confused. Getting to Shanxi was a relatively simple proposition, they could avoid the aliens in orbit long enough if they needed to. FTL travel and the huge distances of space combat could allow them to get in and out easily. Retrieving people from the planet's surface however would require landing or the use of shuttles, both of which would leave their ships vulnerable to a devastating counterattack by the superior ships of the enemy. Grissom was either completely mad or had an ace up his sleeve. Hannah sincerely hoped it was the latter.

"For this task, we have you. Most of you were chosen not because you were the best, but because you are the most aggressive. Others were chosen for technical expertise that we can't find anywhere else. That would be you, Deck Chief Beaumont. Without each of you, this plan will fail, and our entire species is that little bit more at risk of extinction or slavery. No pressure. However, we have one distinct advantage aside from your own talents."

Grissom pressed the screen button again.

Hannah's jaw dropped instantly. The image had changed to a picture of posing two soldiers in front of a large forest clearing, big goofy smiles on their faces and their thumbs up. They were United States Colonial Marines, if their uniforms and the weapons hanging off of them were any testament. The flora was strange, clearly alien. That pretty much confirmed it; they were on Shanxi, grinning like fools. The reasons for their levity were behind them, sitting inticingly in the clearing. There couldn't be many reasons to be pleased with yourself on a planet besieged by alien invaders, but in Hannah's mind, this was certainly one of them. They had achieved something spectacular, something next to impossible. The Admiral was right, it could change everything. Something had to be tried.

As the murmuring started, an elbow nudged Hannah's side. She turned to find her friend beaming a massive grin at her. "This is going to be fun," Mari said, motioning her head at the image.

Hannah looked up at the picture again, beginning to feel excited about the prospect herself. Her palm found its way to her forehead, her pulse quickening. She felt warmer. The realisation of what Grissom's plan was, and why she had been chosen washed over her. The responsibility was a grave one. But Mari was right. It would be fun.

* * *

_**Aire de Xi'an, Autoroute 4, Shanxi Colony**_

"_July, 2157, Xian Valley, Shanxi._

_Hello, my love._

_The indications are very strong that we will fight in a few days, perhaps tomorrow, and in case I don't get the opportunity to speak to you again, I felt I needed to write something for you to see when I'm gone. I know I promised that I wouldn't write a letter like this, but things have changed since I made that promise, and I cannot let what's going to happen go by without trying to explain myself._

_I can't say that I'm afraid or lack confidence in the cause. My courage hasn't wavered for a moment. I know how human civilisation now leans on our triumph, and how much we owe to all those who went before us, through all the blood and suffering of all our wars on Earth. And I'm willing, perfectly willing, to lay down my life and its joys to help defeat this enemy, and pay the price required to preserve everything we've built._

_My love for our country falls over me like a tide. The people I'm helping, who are helping me, their efforts force me to push myself into this fight. I can't let up, or everyone back home would be dishonoured, even if it means death. My memories with you keep coming to me at the quiet moments, as if I can sense that my end is near and my mind runs away to a safe place to distract me. I'm grateful to you for those moments, and for your infinite patience. _

_If I do not return, forgive me."_

Cassandra stopped writing and breathed easy for the first time in hours. A heavy sense of dread had been building through the day. She had shifted about in her seat, tried to sleep a little, and obsessed over Ordnance Survey maps on the NetBattlefield system. Nothing had worked to relieve her. She had thought she had banished her doubts, but as the convoy had made its way down the freshly paved roads towards her objective, her unease had grown.

The enemy was the reason for it. They had done absolutely nothing to stop the large column of vehicles making its way across the continent. Not a single scout was spotted, no combat units swarmed to surround and destroy, and not a glimpse of an orbital attack like the one that had struck at Chang'an. It meant only one thing in her mind; the aliens had other plans. Not knowing what they were heading into exacerbated the frustration, and she cursed Colonel Ryan's name every time she thought of it.

By the time Cassandra had ordered the final stop before their main destination at the only fuel station in the region, she was practically clawing at the edges of her APC's cupola. She had watched each vehicle in her charge pass by the entrance into the large parking area, lining up to exchange batteries and fuel cells. The civilians jumped out of their buses and ambulances, stretching themselves. The soldiers had set up a perimeter in the treeline of the now extremely dense forest surrounding, far more wary of the enemy jumping them. The Captain reflected that their alertness was why the civilians felt safe; they were being protected. It was watching this scene unfold that provided her revelation.

At the back of her mind, she thought she was going to die, and she thought that it would be necessary.

Satisfied that her subordinates were doing their job, she had sat down against one of the large armoured wheels on her vehicle, and wrote her "last" letter. Once, on a mission in the Sahara, she had watched others write words in a similar vein, huddling in corners or alone in passenger compartments, to be passed on to loved ones. She had thought it extremely bad luck to follow their lead. It tempted fate. Some of those who wrote were killed or wounded severely soon afterwards, yet she escaped unscathed, as if confirming her position's merit. Shan'xi had taught her the error of her thinking. They hadn't wrote to tempt fate, they had just recognised when it would overcome them. They knew as she thought she did.

Cassandra looked over her short note, holding out the tablet, unsure if it would satisfy its intended recipient. She noted the sound of boots padding over concrete towards her, but kept her attention on her task. At least, until the newcomer spoke.

"Who are you writing to?" asked Major Connolly.

Cassandra glanced upwards. The police officer's eyes were sincere, and she had another cup of tea cradled in her hands, gently steaming in the cold night air. The fresh uniform was still spotless, in stark contrast to the bloody mess she had worn when Cassandra had first met her. Respecting the woman's efforts too much to outright refuse, the Captain indicated for the arrival to sit.

"What makes you think I'm writing to someone?" she asked, as the cop took her place on the tarmac against the wheel.

"Your eyes were more soft than I've seen before," replied Connolly, "Until now, it's been cold steel the whole time, concentrating on your duty."

Cassandra tilted her head, conceding the point. She was unsurprised at Connolly's perception. You couldn't make the rank of major in the colonial Gendarmes if you were poor at reading people, and apparently Connolly was very good indeed. Which was probably why she was assigned to a refugee colony with potential public order issues likely to flare up. Someone like that could head off trouble before it became serious, making her a very valuable person to both government and colonial investors. The Captain watched the woman take a slow sip of her tea, wondering if she should shrug off the remark.

"Why do you care?" Cassandra asked, "I don't know you, you don't know me."

"You saved all our lives," replied Connolly, "It was a nightmare before you showed up. People being dragged by their hair or legs into the street, anyone putting up real resistance simply shot on the spot, what few I could save huddled around with weapons they could barely use and low on ammunition. Then along you came, with your tanks and flags flapping in the breeze, and the nightmare stopped. That's why I care, Captain."

Cassandra frowned. She felt a bit of an asshole about trying to dodge the subject now.

"I can't exactly deny that, Major," she said, running her hand through her hair in exasperation, "I was writing something personal, yes."

"Please, call me Jennifer," Connolly said, before returning to her point, "Who is he?"

Eyebrows raised, Cassandra was unable to hold back her surprise at how quickly she had gotten to the heart of the matter. The smell of sweet tea wafted over as the answer refused to come.

"You're too smart to be a cop," the Captain replied coolly, "You could have been a brilliant psychologist."

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Jennifer. The cop quietly waited, taking another sip from her cup and not pressing the matter raised. Cassandra mentally reaffirmed her previous statement. Far far too smart to be a cop.

"He's a teacher in Johannesburg," the Captain said, "Didn't want to die without being able to say something to him first. Didn't think I _could_ die until today."

Jennifer nodded, staying respectfully silent. Nothing more on the subject needed to be said. It was obvious what was at stake. Thankfully, Cassandra soon remembered that she had a question of her own to ask to change the subject.

"When we first met, you were covered in blood," she said, her tone more cheerful, "Blue blood."

"Ah, that," Jennifer said, her eyes rising to the sky, avoiding contact.

"You must have been close," Cassandra continued, "I've seen those things fight, how did you survive?"

"It was luck, really," replied Jennifer, "I was investigating a building nearby when the fuckers' shuttles first landed. I'm minding my own business with my partner, when gunfire starts outside and up the stairway comes this seven foot tall freak. Helmet-off and ugly as sin. I had no idea then what the hell I was looking at, but I wasn't going to sit down and ask it over some biscuits. I think it was just as surprised as we were, because I got off a round with my shotgun just as he fired. My partner took it in the gut, but I caught the alien in the neck. Arterial spray covered me."

Cassandra grimaced. She sincerely hoped she never found herself in a similar predicament, regardless of whether or not she was Captain DeRutyer of C Company. Whether or not you survived the enemy getting the drop on you like that was down entirely to the gods, there was nothing you could do but react. Another lesson she had been taught in the Sahara, in the war against the fanatics.

"Did your partner live?" Cassandra asked.

Jennifer gave a look, eyes narrowed and lips thinned. "No, but I'm quite happy about that," she said, "He was a gigantic prick in ways I'd rather not get into. Possibly corrupt too. Still, not a pleasant thing to have to watch a guy get gutshot, then drag him to headquarters through a firefight. Salty bastard died as soon as we arrived too."

Cassandra nodded, a simple acknowledgement. She felt that the police officer was somewhat of a comrade-in-arms, now that she had heard the story. Her attention returned to her letter. Scanning it, she now thought it more satisfactory than it had seemed before. She tapped the save button, and placed it in the cloud folder as well as the memory of the tablet itself. She felt a good deal better about what she thought was going to happen.

Lieutenant Botha rounded the back of the APC, tablet in hand, and saluted the pair. Cassandra sighed, before standing up and returning the gesture. Duty was no respecter of persons. The tablet was handed over, and a quick look showed it was a roster of the vehicles in the column. Everyone was accounted for, thankfully.

"The civilian transports and the American artillery column are now fully refuelled and ready to go, Cass," Botha said, "Our own vehicles will be ready within the half-hour."

"Very well, Nandi," Cassandra replied, "How are you holding up?"

"It's getting cold now, but once we're on the road again, I think we'll be fine," Botha said, rubbing her hands together, "A bit hungry."

"Go get something to eat then," said Cassandra, smiling, "That's an order."

Botha saluted, and left at pace towards the service station where a great number of the civilians were huddled around food they had gathered from inside. Cassandra shook her head. The lieutenant was an amusing person sometimes. She often forgot herself in the course of seeing to other people.

"You seem close with your officers," Jennifer remarked, standing up herself after gulping the last of her tea.

"Just with Nandi Botha," replied Cassandra, "That's a story for another time, though."

The comms hissed in the Captain's ear for a second.

"Enemy contact east!" said Lieutenant Zibonele, reporting in, "Large enemy force bearing down on our position at five kilometres and closing!"

Cassandra began calculating, her training taking control of her thought process immediately. The recon element left as a rearguard was only a kilometre behind. The aliens had anti-grav vehicles as standard, and would move quickly. The civilians needed to get the hell out of there, or else they'd be caught. They still might be caught even if they did. She turned to Connolly.

"They're here, get everyone moving!" Cassandra said, "Now!"

Jennifer's eyes widened as she processed what was just said to her, but to her credit, she reacted quickly. The cop ran and began shouting in Chinese at the nearest group of civilians, pointing at the buses and then at the road where the enemy would come from. They dropped everything, knocking over large bowls and glasses, and ran as fast as they could to the transports. This behaviour spread quickly, beginning a panicked general exodus from the rest stops to the vehicles. Terrified people ran to what they perceived as safety inside the buses and ambulances.

Satisfied that the civilians would be moving by the time the enemy arrived, Cassandra activated her comms to insure the other group she was protecting would be as well.

"Captain Beck, I hope you are ready to get out of here!" she said.

"We heard the alert, we'll be mobile in sixty seconds," came the reply in a New England drawl.

"Good, protect the civilians," said Cassandra, "They'll be relying on you."

"You're going to offer battle?!" said Beck, incredulous at the prospect. Cassandra hesitated. The enemy were likely advancing to wipe out her troops and the artillery, as well as capture the civilians. Why they didn't just bombard the hell out of the entire fuel station from orbit was another one of fortune's whims, but every instinct screamed at her to escape before they tried. Her head and heart said otherwise, however.

"My company is here to protect your artillery, I intend to do that," she said, "We're only an hour from X'ian Valley itself at most. You'll get there if we fight."

"You stay, you're probably dead," Beck stated flatly.

"We're not staying, we'll fight a rearguard action," replied Cassandra, her plan now forming in her head, "I very much intend to live."

Beck paused.

"Good luck, Captain."

"Thank you, Captain."

Cassandra donned her helmet, and climbed up into the cupola of her APC once again as the crew rushed across the tarmac to join her. The Americans began to move, their armoured cars lining up along the exit road, waiting for the artillery to join them. The civilian's buses were still loading up the last passengers. As she watched, she switched her comms channel.

"All units, this is DeRuyter. Form up on my position, and prepare to close with the enemy."


	7. Chapter 6: Trasimene

**Chapter Six: ****Trasimene**

_**Aire de Xi'an, Autoroute 4, Shanxi Colony**_

Cassandra watched as the infantry disembarked as ordered, climbing out of the APCs and taking cover in the treeline as ordered. Weapons ready. Their efficient and swift movements betraying no fear. She was a little more hopeful that they'd get through this from seeing it. Satisfied that they were ready, she ordered the APCs to back off into the treeline and activate their active camouflage. The aliens would have a hard time of it, she was sure. Her plan was simple. She did not have the time for anything else, but she knew that had everything she needed to win. In theory.

The road curved as it reached the fuel station, the concrete and tarmac plaza stretching out into the forest alongside it. Clear firing lanes for a half-kilometre up the road, bottlenecked until the station itself, which started just within the optimum range of the infantry. Cassandra could feel it already. It was a perfect position, even without the measures she had taken to maximise the crossfire. ET would have to proceed directly into the open into her company's sights, or trek through the woods where they could be detected and hit with incendiary mortar fire. As long as their navy didn't get involved, she was supremely confident of victory.

"All units reporting in," said Botha, "AT and EMP weaponry ready." The orders came in isiZulu, which according to Zibonele was linguistically unrelated to English or Afrikaans. As almost the whole unit came from eastern South Africa, everyone understood it. Cassandra hoped this would throw off the enemy's attempts to listen to their transmissions entirely, or at least long enough to do some damage.

A tire screech tore across the air, and Zibonele's scouts drove into view in the east. The four-wheeled armoured cars roared down the road, being driven for the very lives of the passengers. The machineguns and missile launchers on top of them were turned to the rear, and let off a chatter or a scream of their own every few seconds. Cassandra took a deep breath and released it slowly, before buttoning up in her vehicle and activating the battlefield network.

"Okay, brothers and sisters," she said, "Each of you is worth five aliens. Just do what you were trained to do, and we'll crush them. We win or they show up on Earth, to kill and enslave. You all saw what had been happening in Chang'an. Don't let it happen to home."

Various acknowledgements came through the comms, as the enemy finally hovered into view.

Chasing the scouts were more anti-grav vehicles. At first, it was just the tank destroyer hovercraft that they had seen before, but these were soon joined by squat, angular vehicles. Definitely tanks or infantry fighting vehicles of some kind. To Cassandra, they looked almost like the hovertanks the Russians and Chinese used to use, and if they were even half as formidable, they needed to be stopped ASAP. It was all going to take all the tricks up their sleeves to defeat the aliens, otherwise they were all very dead. At least Beck and the civilians were further away with every moment.

Missiles flew at the scouts, but the active defences were holding for the moment. The enemies' machineguns were chewing at the rear of the armoured cars angrily. Cassandra winced. The ricochets could be heard even from a distance. The return fire was bursting in mid-air before impact, accompanied by small blue-white flashes. The sure sign of a kinetic barrier system. As she watched, the Captain really wanted to get her hands on similar toys.

The fighting column followed the road, leading the enemy along it. As expected, the enemy began to spread out across the tarmac. Active camouflage was great in the day, but it lit up like a Christmas tree on every screen at night. The aliens were moving to bring more firepower to bear against the line of vehicles that seemed to be waiting to be destroyed. Dozens of the hovertanks, jockeying for position, the pilots all clearly eager to prove themselves against a new enemy. Missiles burst into the woods, seeking targets and being shot down. Cassandra smiled to herself. They had made the mistake she hoped they would, and she had them cold.

"Nandi, EMP disruptors."

"Ready to go, Cass."

From the treeline directly perpendicular to the road, facing the east, the engines of the APCs roared to life again. Emerging from the bush with camouflage down, the vehicles' grenade launchers swivelled and whined as they tracked the forward targets. The rotary launchers spun up and began firing, sending the munitions arcing and spinning through the air. They landed in the midst of the enemy spearhead, and detonated.

Electricity surged forth, bolts of lightning bouncing around in a bright blue haze like a fireworks display, gripping between the aliens' hovercraft. It had the disruption effect desired. The front vehicles dropped to the ground and skid along the tarmac, spinning and throwing yellow sparks in their wake. Those behind that weren't affected did their best to crash straight into the back of their comrades at full speed. Some flipped over entirely, landing on their roofs with a loud clatter. Others ploughed through, the armour cracking and anti-grav partially failing, sending the tanks spinning around and trailing their sides or front ends. A long line of wrecked vehicles lay still, dust settling around them.

Cassandra's smile turned to a sneer of contempt. The aliens thought of her entire species as simple primitives to be conquered, like the British thought when they came to her own country centuries earlier. And like those invaders, all those years ago, they would be made to pay for that arrogance, regardless who won in the end. Even so, they weren't getting the point. Alien infantry and vehicle crews began calmly exiting the wrecks and arming themselves, to her surprise and exasperation. Arming themselves with weapons that looked like they could do some real damage.

"First Platoon, firing positions," Cassandra ordered, "Nandi, white phosphorous in front of us, now!"

"Yes, Captain!" came the assured reply.

The aliens were reorganising themselves quickly. Already they had gathered by squad, peeking over the top of the wrecked tanks, setting up support weapons. Their arrogant pride wasn't entirely undeserved, after all. Cassandra watched as the white phosphorous burst in front of them, before the smoke enveloped the carnage. She unbuttoned her hatch and poked her head out, expecting to hear the booming of heavy weapons or see missiles streaming through the fog. Nothing sounded across the tarmac, except the popping of the grenade launchers and mortar shots. What's more, the smoke was advancing towards her line. Which shouldn't have been the case.

Cassandra closed her hatch and returned her attention to the sensory equipment. In front, smoke canisters were being thrown. Which could only mean one thing. Switching to motion tracking, she tried to confirm her fear. Sure enough, the enemy was approaching, their figures picked out of the smoke by the sensors. They were getting dangerously close, pacing in well organised groups, covering the angles.

"First Platoon, open fire into the smoke now!" she snarled, before following her own order with her own weapons. She squeezed the trigger hard, and the machinegun chattered above her, spitting metal in the direction of the detected movement. Seconds later, this was followed by another forty soldiers and ten armoured personnel carriers' worth, the smoking reflecting the light of muzzle flashes back into the forest. Cassandra hoped this would cause the aliens to retreat or at least hesitate. She was disgusted to find her hopes were ill placed.

The damned dog-legged space dinosaurs just kept coming, and worse, returned fire as they did so. It was easy to tell even without the advanced equipment, as the forest in which the line was hiding began to take hits. A shot carved its way through the artificial fog and split the tree beside the Captain's APC in half. Cassandra looked at it, as it fell to the side, and knew the time had come for the next part of her plan.

"Second Platoon, advance," she said, "Sinha, blow it."

The same millisecond that Cassandra had completed saying the last syllable of her order, the ground in front of her flashed and shook. The fuel station and much of the space around it went up like a volcano, the fuel cells and auxiliary tanks detonating below. It took some effort and no small amount of explosives to pull it off, but the aliens nearby were stunned at best, ripped to shreds at worst. The event really got the attention of the enemy forces, not least because it dispersed the smoke both sides had laid down.

The Captain felt her confidence grow. Her plan had gone perfectly so far, and the next part began to unfold. From the left of the enemy advance, Second Platoon's vehicles finally fired up their engines and drove forwards out of the trees. First Platoon's fire became much more accurate now that they could see the enemy on more than just a monitor. The enemy had to retreat or die.

But they did neither.

The stubborn bastards kept up their advance, despite being struck from the side. They even split off to attack Sinha's troops as they dismounted. Cassandra watched in amazement as they ate the concentrated fire coming at them. Many fell, but still more kept on coming by fire and movement, using small dividing walls or transformer boxes as cover. She came to a stomach churning realisation; many of the aliens on the ground were simply stunned or injured, not dead. Their armour was just that good, far better than the stuff the aliens at Chang'an had been wearing. She grit her teeth. No wonder they could advance like that. It was still a feat of incredible discipline of course, but no sane soldier could have survived it otherwise.

"Sinha, continue sweeping them from the side," Cassandra ordered, "Nandi, mount up the infantry, get their masks on, and deploy the tear gas." She listened as the word was passed from the lieutenant to the squad leaders, and the troops began moving to the backs of their transports. Sometimes dragging their injured or dead squadmates with them by the shoulders. ET wasn't the only one taking losses.

The tear gas canisters spat out and landed in the midst of the aliens. The gas dispersed among them, and the effect was immediate. Their advance stopped dead. More than half of them began hunching over, shaking as they coughed and struggled to breath. Attempts to put on helmet faceplates were interrupted by the APCs' fire, which was finally making its mark. Cassandra's lip curled in disgust at the sight. Technically, it was illegal to use tear gas on soldiers... But the aliens weren't subject to chemical weapons treaties. It had saved her defence, for the moment. Finally, the aliens began to retreat, again throwing down smoke to cover themselves as they ran back to the wrecks and their heavy weapons.

"They're running, Cass," said Nandi, "Should we chase?"

"No need," the Captain replied, "Without those vehicles, they're not going anywhere, and we don't know what else they have."

The firing intensified again, as the First Platoon backed off and Second got into their vehicles again. Anti-tank missiles lanced into the crippled enemy hovercraft, insurance against repairs. A couple of shots bounced off the front of Cassandra's vehicle in retaliation, thudding loudly against the metal. She squeezed off another burst from her weapons, but she was almost tempted to let it slide. It was clear who the winners of this fight were.

"All units, withdraw to rallypoint," she ordered, "We've stopped them."

* * *

_**Aire de Xi'an, Shanxi Colony**_

Victus wandered along the tarmac as the snake made of aliens and metal slither away again. He had a new respect for what it was capable of, and the mind behind that capability. The fuel station ahead of him was a graveyard of disabled and destroyed hovertanks, as well as a carnal house of the dead and injured. Turian blood lay upon the ground, reflecting the light of the large moon in the sky. The remains of squads huddled together behind the broken metal, still aiming their weapons outwards into the darkness of the night. Their new major knew it was pointless. The snake had bitten, the venom was unleashed, and it made good its escape.

There had been reports of the use of disruptor weapons from various areas of the planet, but they were inconsistent and had all been situations where enemy infantry had taken on a single turian vehicle. Intelligence had led everyone to believe that they were not area-effect weapons, and that they were limited in numbers. Victus rubbed his neck, promising to himself to do everything he could to have whoever came up with that idea shot for incompetence. They had completely failed to account for the bizarre chemical weapons too, a substance banned by the Citadel centuries ago for the potential to blind turians in particular. Not that primitives could be expected to know about those laws. They hadn't known about the ban on opening uncharted relays either.

The coordinated mass attack, standard turian strategy against any foe with limited capability, had failed entirely. A very rare occurrence in their experience, even against the krogan. Victus had that to shelter behind at least, when the recriminations for the debacle would begin. No other turian would have or could have done differently in his shoes. It seemed obvious that was a problem, particularly when fighting these so-called primitives.

Turian and galactic history was full of examples of a relentless, aggressive enemy that pressed on heedless. The wars on Palaven and the colonies, the Rachni Wars, the Krogan Rebellions. The new enemy was different. Almost as flexible as the asari, almost as cunning as the salarian... almost as stubborn as the turian. Not the match of any of the three in their element, but commanding all three of those traits was a feat in itself. Adaptability is survival, and the humans had it in spades.

Victus hated his realisation. He just couldn't dismiss it and follow the old ways now that it had come to him. That would be the act of an imbecile. A new age would dawn, even if they defeated the humans, and he would probably be near the forefront of it as a witness to its birth. An aide approached as he watched the sad scene below, glad he had held back his original unit from the assault to act as an elite reserve. There would be time for retribution later.

"The manipular commanders are saying at least fifty percent casualties," the aide reported, "Most of them non-lethal, thank the spirits." The soldier held out a data-tablet for Victus to take. He ignored it.

"Thank you for your report," Victus said in a low tone, "Anything else...Corinthus, was it?"

"...Sir, General Orinia will be livid when she hears of this," the aide said, "As will High Command."

"Undoubtedly," said Victus, turning to the younger turian, "But nothing will come of it. None of them would have fared better, and they'll know it from the broken bodies we're going to send back. There'll be a cover-up, and this battle will never have existed."

Corinthus looked outraged at what had just been suggested, which amused Victus more than a little. No small feat, given what had just happened. But it was nothing less than the truth. The Hierarchy could not be embarrassed in the face of the salarians and asari, not by a primitive species barely leaving its own cradle. There were delicate colonisation negotiations set to start in the next few years, trade routes to be decided upon, and the robber-barons of the Terminus needed to be kept in line. The balance of power was delicate.

"They can't, sir," he said, "If it ever got out..."

"It won't change the fact that our people died here, though," Victus continued with a sigh, "And it isn't all bad."

"It's a disaster, sir," Corinthus said, "What could possibly be good about this?"

Victus scowled at his new subordinate. The aide was speaking out of turn, and didn't seem to get the point. "We know exactly what their capabilities are, and we can prepare for them," he replied, "We also confirmed that our strengths can match theirs... our disciplined advance almost broke through to their line, until the hidden units moved in from the side and they deployed chemical weapons."

"Don't forget the fuel station," Corinthus added wearily, "They won't get far without fuel, at least."

"They're not going far, and more than likely have a stockpile further ahead," Victus replied, "Regardless, we'll be following."

"Sir, we were ordered to stay out of the valley itself," stated Corinthus, his outrage growing still further.

Victus turned to the soldier, tempted to backhand some sense into him. However, when his eyes met those of the offending subordinate, he saw only fear. Fear of the enemy. The anger drained out of him immediately, and he simply frowned, his mandibles twitching slightly. Corinthus was right to be afraid. But saying that would be the worst idea in the world.

"Orinia will want recon for the next attack," said Victus, "This defeat will draw attention, attention that the generals higher up won't want. To settle this quietly, we'll need to test the ground ahead, map out the dangers. Surveillance."

"And you used to be a reconnaissance lieutenant..." said Corinthus, putting two and two together.

Victus smiled. The appeal to duty had worked, and his subordinate had straightened up. Perhaps there was hope for him after all. "Which means this unit is the most qualified and is already on the ground," he finished, "Get the first maniple ready once the wounded and dead have been evacuated. We'll catch a ride as far as we can, and then we'll move out on foot."

* * *

_**Xi'an Valley, Shanxi Colony**_

Cassandra sat out of the hatch on her command vehicle as it powered along. It had been three quarters of an hour after they had left the fuel station, with the broken remains of their pursuers, and entered Xi'an Valley itself. She felt positively buoyed by the defeat she had inflicted on the aliens, though the fears remained like a bad smell. The final count of her losses were twelve dead, six wounded. But it was enough for hope, and she was able to dismiss any thought of the enemy thanks to the many distractions of her surroundings.

Even in the night, the valley was beautiful. A huge plain stretching on and on, flanked by two mountain ranges that almost came together at the end, snow capping each of the peaks. The convoy had passed some shrublands, woodlands, little meadows that almost glowed in the mix of moonlight and the beginnings of dawn. Cassandra had even spotted a herd of what looked like six-legged deer of some sort, which had her salivating at the prospect of some decent meat for dinner. The place was an eden of possibility. It was a comfort, as it brought her back to memories of her routine deployments on Terra Nova and Eden Prime, which were both beautiful as well, in their own way.

None of the sounds of the night could be heard clearly. Not with twenty four armoured personnel carriers and fifteen scout cars tearing down the road as fast as they could. They didn't have the same roar as petroleum-fueled classics, but their engines were not silent either. The low grumble-whine added to the tyres gripping the ground talked over any of the insect or animal life that might have been making calls, and the wind blowing by. Cassandra took the opportunity to take off her helmet and let it run through her hair. It felt great, a relief from the mind-numbing stress of the last few hours.

They were approaching their objective, and it was time to reach out to see if anyone was alive ahead. The Captain was positive they would be. She switched her comms to Captain Beck's channel, and piped the line to Sinha, Zibonele and Nandi, so they could listen in.

"Xi'an base, this is Company C, Third Brigade, African 3rd Colonial Infantry," Cassandra said, "Reporting per Alliance orders from General Williams."

"DeRuyter, you magnificent bitch," growled Beck happily, "You're alive."

"You doubted me?" Cassandra said back, "We are the best at what we do, Captain." No need to mentioned exactly how hairy it had gotten. Which reminded her to thank Connolly for the tear gas. Without it, the victory would have been far more costly. Or possibly wouldn't have happened at all.

"You can tell Colonel Ryan in person when you get in, he'll want to speak to you," Beck said, "We got through okay, not a single alien in sight the whole way in. All the civvies are parked up and safe underground."

Cassandra blew a breath through her lips, glad the first part of the ordeal was over with. She had arrived as ordered, despite losing nearly an entire platoon to the enemy dropping a gas station on her head and having to blow up another fuel station to stop an attack. Now it was time for answers. Why had she been ordered away from the rest of her division? To protect what?

"That's good to hear," she said, "I look forward to hearing from the colonel, particularly about why we're here."

"You can ask him if you like, but my suggestion would be to keep your eyes open to the left of the road as you drive in," said Beck coyly, "You'll see exactly why you're here. The pickets already have you sighted, enjoy yourself. Beck out."

The line cut out, without any further explanation. Cassandra shook her head in frustration. The curiosity was killing her, and she was already moving as fast as she could. She hoped it was something as important as Beck had implied, or else the US and Africa were probably going to go to war with each other over her retaliation. Alliance be damned. She returned her comms channel to the company command line.

"Hear that Zibonele?" she said, "Rush ahead and see what the hell the American is talking about."

"Yes, ma'am," came the reply, the lieutenant sounding very pleased. The reason why he was so happy about the order became apparent a minute later when the whole collection of scout cars gunned their engines and broke free of the pack in seconds. They were racing, Cassandra realised, and it was her fault. She watched them as far as the next bend, as they squeezed every inch out of the cars as they could.

"Our scout lieutenant interpreted his order rather literally," Nandi said, her own APC directly behind the Captain's own. Apparently the good atmosphere was infectious.

Cassandra turned back to flash her friend a smile, and gave a thumbs up. Nothing wrong with enthusiasm about following orders in her mind, nothing at all. "Hopefully we can find out if I need to shoot the Colonel sooner rather than later," she replied, "We spent blood getting here."

"They will be avenged, Cass," Nandi said.

"So help me, God," added Sinha, "We hurt them back there, I look forward to our next meeting."

"Good, keep that in mind," said Cassandra, "Both of you."

The column continued along the road, the Captain's APC leading. The forest got thicker, with the occasional patchy break in the trees. The road narrowed, the four-lane motorway squeezing itself into a two-lane route. There were plenty of long tyre tracks indicating that Zibonele's scouts had slowed down at the intersection before proceeding. The road wasn't the reason why.

Two walkers strode out of the forest on each side as Cassandra's vehicle approached, gatling autocannons spinning up slightly as a precautio. Their searchlights scanned over the road, illuminating the new arrivals. Their commanders were sitting out of their hatches, like she was. As the convoy passed, she saluted them and they saluted back. They were all in the shit together now.

Behind the mechanised picket were more concealed units. Tanks were dug in behind bushes and under the shade of large trees, their engines off but their crews ready nearby. Anti-tank and anti-aircraft positions were everywhere, in bunkers cut directly into the rock that jutted out of the soil in many places. It was a fortress, to Cassandra's surprise, and a well hidden one. Between the foliage and underground sections, she doubted it would have shown up on an orbital heat scan at all if it wasn't for the soldiers themselves.

"You think there's been any fighting here yet?" Sinha asked.

"Doesn't look like it," said Nandi, "But why?"

"Why aren't the aliens just bombarding the hell out of this place with the fleet?" Sinha continued, "Or anywhere else."

"Maybe they want to get up close and personal," said Nandi, "Prove themselves on the ground against us like they already have in space."

"They haven't proved anything yet," said Cassandra, "But think about it. Shanxi is only the beginning, they're going to have to fight us for every world and they can't occupy a planet with ships alone. This is practice for them." The idea sent a shudder down her spine, but it was the conclusion she had drawn long before. The enemy was taking it easy, learning about their new adversary. Watching how humanity reacted to specific military stimuli.

"So... What do you think it is?" asked Sinha.

"Prothean superweapon," said Nandi immediately, "Maybe something that doesn't get bounced by kinetic barriers." Not impossible, but implausible, thought Cassandra.

"We already have weapons like that, they're called disruptor torpedoes," said Sinha flatly, "I'm thinking we captured some alien generals, which is why they're not blowing us all to hell." More likely, but digging in instead of getting the prizes the hell out before the invasion really settled would have been smarter.

"Torpedoes are one-shot weapons and they're expensive," Nandi retorted, "A particle cannon or something like that would be better. I read somewhere that scientists think the Protheans used those instead of chemical-projectile weapons or mass-accelerators."

"Scientists are talking nonsense about stuff they can only guess about," said Sinha, "Sure, the Europeans got the databanks on Mars working, but they've barely scratched the surface of the information on them. For all we know, the Protheans are crab-people who eat other aliens."

Nandi laughed from her throat at that last bit. Cassandra herself was drawing a blank on what to expect. She had thought of and dismissed both of her lieutenants' guesses already. The other possibility she had thought of was some sort of crashed ship, belonging either to their enemy or someone else, with vital technology or intel they could use. But there were no reports of any archaeological finds in the area, and no alien ships had been shot down over Shanxi since the siege began.

Cassandra remained deep in thought while her lieutenants continued the debate, until all three of them were interrupted by Zibonele.

"I don't believe it..." he said, in the middle of a tirade by Sinha.

"I take it you have arrived, lieutenant," Cassandra said, "So, what is all the fuss about?"

There was a break for a minute, where not even static was coming through. The Captain thought her comms had broken down until the sound of someone speaking in the background came over the air. What was so interesting that it could render a veteran officer speechless?

"Lieutenant Zibonele," said Cassandra, adding more force to her tone, "Report."

"Apologies, Captain," the lieutenant replied, "You need to see for yourself. My description would be... inadequate."

"Inadequate..." Cassandra repeated, "So Beck was right about its importance."

"Definitely," replied Zibonele.

"Very well," said Cassandra, "See you in a few minutes."

The drive to the scout platoon's position was agonising, but thankfully short. Security tightened up the further the column went. The road was lined with considerably more Marines-per-square-inch than before, often sporting heavy assault armour and the new mass-accelerator railgun sniper weapons. Flocks of drones patrolled above the road too, flying grenade-launchers with rotors. Impressive guards, a sight that only reinforced Cassandra's impatience to see what it was all about.

Her APC turned around another wide bend in the road, and the civilians' trucks and buses came into view, stopped beside each other in a line along the right side of the road. They were empty, it seemed, as Cassandra passed by. Beck had said the people had been moved underground, but the Captain wondered if they had seen the secret. She didn't have to wonder much longer. The scout-cars appeared soon afterwards. They were parked awkwardly at weird angles seemingly at random, and were empty too.

Cassandra braced herself for what she knew was coming. She was not disappointed.

Beside the road, there was a meadow that dipped lower than the forest around it. Around its edge, the entire scout platoon sat with their arms around their knees, looking inwards at the objects standing in the middle in awe. The occasional American marine was among them, laughing or joking with the stunned South Africans, their reason for jubilation in front of them.

Two starships stood in the large open space, protected from unwanted viewers by the treeline above.

The one closest was larger than the one at the other side of the meadow, but their shapes were very similar. A large, rectangular central hull, windows flooding light outside. A cargobay door that lowered itself down out of the ship like a lift, both of which were open. Swept wings that were almost as wide as the ships were long. Torpedo launchers tucked under the wings. Four long mass accelerator cannons that ran the length of the sides of the ships from stern to bow. Turreted laser batteries, to shoot down fighters. Cassandra could not help be impressed. They were true weapons of war.

Of course, the really impressive thing was that they were definitely not human ships. Cassandra had already seen pictures of the vessels that were orbiting Shanxi. They were dead-ringers for the two now in the hands of the US Colonial Marines. Someone had already daubed the Alliance's symbol on them, which looked strange alongside the alien writing that was etched on the side of both craft. All of which led Cassandra to ask the obvious question of her similarly bewildered troops.

"_**How the hell did the Americans capture TWO alien ships?!"**_


	8. Chapter 7: The Plan

**Chapter Seven: The Plan**

Seven ship wolfpack, which wasn't enough to even make the enterprise a long shot. Transit to Shanxi System in formation, which wouldn't help at all with the inevitable ambush awaiting them at the relay jumpzone. FTL to Shanxi orbit, which was probably so well-defended as to be impossible to safely jump to. Equipment drop by suborbital thrusters, just so the aliens knew what the Alliance was up to. Combat drop by assault pod, but into the forests kilometres away from the target zone. Rendez-vous with local forces at Xi'an Valley, which would probably be surrounded by the time the mission was a go. Fix the alien ships, which no human engineer had ever set eyes on in an intact state. Fly the alien ships through the blockades back to Arcturus, which might end badly as the picket ships would not be informed of the mission until they picked up the friendly IFFs.

Hannah finished off her G&amp;T, letting out a long sigh afterwards. The plan was insanity. It relied on many factors that couldn't be counted upon to flow favourably. Not least of these was how the aliens would react when a single group of frigates showed up. They had ignored some reconnaissance flights, possibly to encourage human leadership to surrender when it was seen how easily Shanxi was falling. Unfortunately, there was too much personnel and equipment to bring to simple spoof one of those missions. However, there was at least one reason to be glad.

Grissom really had picked the best.

Hannah looked across the table at three of them, in the empty officer's bar that was decked out like an old style pub with wood furnishings nearby the B Docks. All were deep in their cups now, despite it only being about midday on the station. Things were deathly quiet almost everywhere. Everyone was on their ships, at their workstations or in simulation chambers, drilling and preparing for the big offensive to come.

Mari look positively pleased with herself, a small smile flashing as she looked into her glass before drinking. Hannah narrowed her eyes for the third time at the gesture, knowing that the mission was the blonde Scandinavian's idea of a dream job. Mari was a hotshot pilot. One of the first to win a combat kill, against a pirate group that had sprung up on the edges of known space. She lived for this sort of danger. Hannah did too, but was more reluctant to embrace it. There was Jane to think about, after all.

David Anderson wore a studied, expressionless face. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, though his head remained level with the table. Hannah didn't know him well enough to read him. Was he afraid? Eager to fight? Resigned to his fate? The man didn't seem to offer any clues at that moment. He was the only marine at the table, taking up Mari's offer as they were leaving the briefing room after having met the Army's team.

The last member of the session was reluctantly sipping a beer, barely a quarter of the glass finished where everyone else was almost done. John had been very quiet since the end of Grissom's reveal. This had sent Hannah into an internal panic briefly. He was always the brash, sarcastic talker. Beyond that, there was the obvious question.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked him.

All three of the others looked at her, their individual thoughts interrupted by the query.

John's face softened. "I didn't know," he replied, "They said top secret briefing, I've been to twenty of those in the past two weeks. Mostly inspecting alien ship parts. Only strange thing this time was that they wanted us to meet in the pilots' briefing room of another fleet."

Hannah frowned, thinking that detail was strange enough to warrant a mention at least. John was fairly tightlipped about work to begin with. He fixed ships, she flew them, the details of both differed enormously. She pondered what to say next, when Anderson jumped in.

"For the record, I had no idea either," Anderson said, "I was questioned by Grissom about the lengths we should go to in this war a while back. I got a transfer notice yesterday along with the order to report."

"We got it after kicking ass in the simulators," Mari said, hand on chin, "I guess we all have something they need for this thing to work."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Of course we do," she said, "Marines to get us there, engineers to fix and run the ships, pilots to fly them out. Problem is that this won't be a simulation. I'm not even trained to drop into an atmosphere in a tin can!"

Anderson laughed, leaning back in his chair.

"Riding the lightning is easy, Shepard," he chuckled, "Imagine a rollercoaster, followed by a solid kick in the ass, and that's all there is to it. Especially since you won't be steering it, it'll follow my pod down."

"You make it sound so easy," said John flatly, "But aren't we going to be shot at when we're doing it?"

"It's more fun that way," Mari smiled.

"It means you're safer than the people on the ship being left behind, actually," Anderson said, "They can't target pods except within a couple of kilometres, and they won't be anything like that close when we enter orbit. If they're shooting, it'll be at the ship, not us."

"And when we get down to the ground?" Hannah asked, not convinced.

"You do what I say, and stick with the Army team," replied Anderson, raising his glass, "We'll take care of you."

John hummed his disapproval of that plan. "I think I might be a little more scared of the Army people than the aliens..." he said, "They seem to have sent all the psychopaths they had."

With a growl of agreement, Anderson took a large swing, polishing off the last of his drink, before setting it down gently. "About that..." he said, "I've heard of some of them. Rumours."

"Rumours saying what?" Mari asked, wavering for the first time, "Are they going to do the job?"

"They wouldn't be picked if they weren't," Anderson said, "But some of them have reputations."

"Like what?" said Hannah.

Anderson got out his data tablet and scrolled down a list of files for a moment, before bringing up the one he was looking for. A well-built woman in her thirties appeared, pale as snow with short brown curls for hair and scars on her face. Information about her lined up in turn, along with further pictures of her in fatigues and in the field, some when she was much younger.

"This is Nina Pavlichenko," the marine said, "You know, the one who just stood at the back, wouldn't shake our hands or speak?"

"Yeah, I noticed that," said John, "She creeped me the hell out. Just stared between the wall and the projector, like no one was in the room except her."

"There's a good reason for that, or so the rumours go," said Anderson, "She first volunteered for combat when she was seventeen, with the Russian forces of the PAC back in the Cold War. Joined the Sniper Section, racked up hundreds of kills on EU and African troops just as the war was turning against her country. She was captured and things got ugly, and spent the next seven years in a POW camp in Sudan. That's all in the files, of course, but what isn't is that she made eighteen escape attempts, all of them deadly. During the last one, she managed to get a rifle and killed thirty two guards before running out of ammunition and surrendering."

Hannah looked at Anderson like he had three heads, and wondered if Grissom was entirely insane before remembering that he hadn't been involved with the Army's selections.

"How the hell is she not dead?!" John declared, "You're telling me that a pissed off Russian has been assigned to protect us?!"

Anderson flicked through the files with his thumb for a second before speaking. "She was released to the Special Forces on her own request," he said, "There's an evaluation here that says she would be a burden to the state as a civilian, and that her skills were too valuable to waste. The offer was made and accepted."

Hannah put her face in her hands, and rubbed it a little as she absorbed the information. She made a quick mental note to steer well-clear of the madwoman, and felt like she needed another drink.

"Jesus Christ," John continued, "Please tell me that she's the only crazy one."

"Not even," Anderson replied.

"Who's the next most crazy?" Mari asked cheerily, "I'd like to know where I figure on the list."

"Probably Martinez," said Anderson, "I've met him before. He's a combat engineer with a real love affair with explosives. I heard there are couple of open arson cases on him too, though nothing seems to stick. You shouldn't worry about him too much, he's not a stone cold killer like Pavlichenko. Little man just likes to watch things blow up."

"I'm more crazy than that," said Mari, disappointed, "Like to see him run at a dreadnought in a frigate. And win."

"Mari, that was a simulation and you weren't alone," Hannah replied in a low tone, "That doesn't count."

"Are you saying you wouldn't do what we did, when the time came?" Mari asked, with an accusatory finger pointed, "Don't lie, Hannah."

The finger wiggled slightly, before being put away as Hannah grimaced at its owner.

"She would," replied John, "Which is why I can't be on this mission. I'm going to request a transfer."

All heads swivelled to him, Hannah's first.

"That's impossible," Anderson said, "When Grissom wants something, he gets it. He's a hero of the entire human race. Good luck turning him down."

"We have a kid, lieutenant," John said, "Can't put both of her parents on a suicide mission."

"It's not a suicide mission," Mari insisted.

"The Army thinks it is," John pressed, "They're sending the crazies that no one will miss."

"What do the Army know!" snapped Hannah, her voice raised.

The table went silent.

"John, do you think it would be any worse if only one of us died?" Hannah said, "If this mission fails, our entire species could be enslaved! You were picked for a reason, and you're coming. Our daughter is going to live in a universe where she's free. You're not backing out of this!" The flight lieutenant immediately regretted her outburst, but she could do nothing now that it had been said. The entire group recoiled, startled by the declaration.

"If we die, Jane will know it was to save her," Hannah added more quietly, "Along with every other little girl."

John paused, and to Hannah's great relief, nodded slowly.

"Don't worry you two," Mari said, "I'll pull your asses out of the fire. Like always."

The entire table grinned at her child-like confidence in their own survival. Hannah seized on it like the lifeline it was. After all, they had all just been volunteered for a suicide mission.

* * *

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Short and snappy chapter to announce the resumption of writing for this story. Hope you enjoy it!_


	9. Chapter 8: Ryan

**Chapter 8: Ryan**

Cassandra looked on towards the alien ships, still in disbelief that they had been captured so easily. The story behind their capture was utterly incredible, and she had little doubt that the people of Earth would celebrate it in grand fashion. Civilians through beginning to hope that victory might be possible, the military by stripping every inch of the things down for technological secrets. Even now, the American mechanics and engineers were crawling over them, inspecting but not dismantling. Some were busy scrubbing the alien script off the side, and daubing on the ships new names.

Enterprise, the larger of the two, and Defiant, the smaller.

The Captain shook her head at the first one. The Americans now lived on worlds other than Earth, yet couldn't drop their love for science fiction. At least the second seemed suitably martial in nature, not being related to Hollywood dreams.

The thoughts distracted her from the conversation she was waiting for. The story of how the ships were captured remained a mystery. None of the US Marines would speak about it, under orders to keep it to themselves. It was frustrating. It wasn't as if Cassandra or her troops would pass the methodology on to the enemy's intelligence services, after all, and they likely knew already. It stirred a bad feeling in her throat, that the Americans didn't trust her.

Her distraction almost made her miss the chomp of boots approaching from behind. Wanting to make the best impression possible on the commander of the last bastion of humanity on Shanxi, she straightened up and fixed her uniform. The heavy footfalls got closer, drawing alongside.

"Ugly lil'things, aren't they?" came a deep drawl, "Reckon they needed painting. Whatever the sonsofbitches called them before doesn't matter now, a couple of the flyboys decided to run wild with it."

Cassandra turned to find a Colonel standing beside her. _The _Colonel, to be exact. He was fair skinned, not as tall as her but only by a couple of inches, and had the expected buzzcut that obscured the real colour of his hair. Naturally, he was well built, but not to the same extent that Beck was. His age was indeterminate but more than her own.

Most importantly, he was dressed in the same green fatigues and combat armour as the other Americans, but a huge P33 Pereira revolver hung off his hip. The impression was inevitable. He was a bloody cowboy! Yet protocol made obligations on her that she intended to carry out.

"Colonel Ryan, I'm glad to meet you finally, sir," she said, saluting, "Captain Cassandra DeRuyter, South African 3rd Colonial Infantry."

The Colonel saluted back somewhat casually, to her surprise, and with a curled lip. He wasn't pleased.

"Yes, I know who you are Captain," he said, "Colonel Edward Ryan, United States Marine Expeditionary Force, and I'm not glad to meet you."

Cassandra clenched her fists behind her back, keeping her face as passive as possible. The man produced a flask from his combat webbing, and poured himself a cup, the smell of coffee wafting on the air. A casual insult then, and one she would answer.

"Then be glad your artillery made it here in one piece," she replied flatly, "Sir."

Ryan did not respond immediately, preferring to gulp down the entire contents of his cup first.

"You have no business talkin' back to me, honey," he said venomously, "Do you have any notion of how badly y'all have fucked us? Because you couldn't follow a simple order, you may have compromised everything we are doing here."

"In Africa, we do not stand by and watch civilians get slaughtered," Cassandra replied, "We saw that too many times in our past, it is intolerable for us. I was under the impression that the soldiers of the United States shared this value, even if they are not empowered by law as we are to disobey orders to prevent war crimes."

"My own Captain reported that the aliens were rounding'em up, not slaughtering'em wholesale," Ryan replied, "And I'm not a soldier, I'm a Marine."

"'Rounding up' civilians as you put it is against the laws of war," Cassandra retorted, "For reasons that should be obvious to you as a _Marine_."

"The aliens don't give a damn," Ryan said, screwing his cup back onto the top of his flask, "And you've only delayed the deaths of those civilians, if that is what the aliens were planning to do. Nowhere on this planet is safe. They were dead already."

"It's a big planet," Cassandra said, "We can easily hide this number until relief arrives."

"You're assuming it will arrive anytime soon," said Ryan, stabbing a finger at her, "You runnin' off to do your own mission almost cost me my artillery and AA, and you draggin' half the civvies along with you has completely shot our plan to pieces. I ought to beat you to death with the chain of command right this moment!"

"There aren't any Alliance generals around here," Cassandra retorted, "You haven't the authority."

"Bullshit!" Ryan shouted, "I've got more people here and each one of mine could eat two of yours alive! That's all the authority I need!"

Cassandra eyed the revolver again, briefly, before bringing her hands around from her back. The Colonel's hostility was bubbling over. The man realised the impression he was giving, and let out a long sigh.

"Lucky you that Captain Beck, Bostonian radical that he is, vouches for you," Ryan continued, "Says we can use you. Reckon we shall."

Cassandra relaxed, returning her hands to their place behind her back. "For what?" she asked.

"Gonna have to tell you the whole story, first," Ryan said, pointing at the prizes of war, "As you can see, we captured two ships. That wasn't done in space, they landed here. The lil'one came in first, damaged. Orbital batteries must have gotten in a lucky shot. Unlucky they landed here, because that clearing is a secret landing site for the bunkers here. Makes sense, they didn't want to get captured so they found a cozy place away from prying eyes. They didn't know about the garrison of Euros and us interlopers. The Europeans didn't have the neck to take it of course, only had a platoon. Their lieutenant will no doubt want to meet you. Anyway, big one came in about twenty minutes later to help, just as we were fixin' to take the lil'one."

"So it was luck?" Cassandra asked, scandalised, "I don't believe it."

"Luck my ass!" Ryan declared, "There was a great deal of work and skill involved."

The man was enjoying telling the story a little too much, Cassandra thought.

"We had to get close enough without getting detected," Ryan continued, "That wasn't too hard, we're kicking around here with thermal screening camo. Getting to both at the same time, so one couldn't fly off or turn their guns on us, that was the real trick. My boys are just that good."

"Did the aliens give much of a fight?" Cassandra asked, "They were very disciplined when we fought them."

"They did what they could," Ryan replied, "Most of them were outside when we attacked, completing the repairs. We waited until they had done so, and caught them completely unaware as they were pattin' themselves on the back for a job well done. Sent a whole company against them, neutralised what I presume were their marines before they could resist. Of course, that's the really important thing."

"Less casualties," Cassandra conceded, "Certainly the best way to do it."

"That's just the icing on the cake," Ryan said, "All their equipment was turned on when we stormed inside. Happened so fast, the crew didn't manage to turn it off in time. They left the keys in the ignition, we can fly these things outta here any time we like."

Cassandra frowned. There was no way there was enough space for everyone on the two vessels.

"Is that why the civilians compromised the operation?" she asked, "Were you planning on using the ships to resist?" Or escape, she added darkly in her head.

"Don't have pilots," Ryan replied, "At least, not pilots that can fly those things. I got gunship pilots, but they lost their birds in the opening minutes. Told me they hadn't the slightest clue."

"So what _is_ the plan?" Cassandra asked.

"Two weeks back, we were just told to keep our heads down," Ryan mused, "Make sure we kept control of the things. Wasn't easy, ET wanted their toys back bigtime. They haven't dropped any nukes on us, but they sent a squadron of fighters and a shuttle. Didn't reckon we had control of the point defences. Didn't need pilots to use those. They're smoking wrecks about six clicks thataway."

The Colonel thumbed over his shoulder with a smirk. Hardly surprising, Cassandra thought as she scanned the terrain once more. The valley seemed to funnel would be aerial attackers into either a long visible approach or a sudden engagement that might not be to their advantage. The aliens clearly chose the location to set down for that reason, and the Europeans to protect their bunkers.

"Couple of days ago, the Alliance came up with a new plan," Ryan continued, "Got the message just before we lost contact. They're sending two of their best frigate jockeys, engineering crew to make sure that the ships are still flyable and to strap our torpedo launchers to them, and a team of combat specialists to keep them alive long enough to get the things out of here."

Cassandra nodded. "That seems like it could work," she said, "Get them back to Earth or Arcturus. Shouldn't be too hard."

"Problem is Williams," Ryan said, "He'll be laying down arms any day now, if he hasn't already. We'll need to defend this place from whatever ground forces are thrown at us until the frigates get away."

Cassandra hummed to herself, spotting a pretty big flaw in the plan.

"Won't that leave us open for them to drop a space station on our heads?" she asked, "Once the frigates are away?"

"That's why you picking up the civilians has fucked us," Ryan said, "We were supposed to use the escape tunnel in the bunker complex to get under the mountains yonder and keep fighting. We can't move fast enough for that to work now. The aliens would get inside before all of us were through, even if I did leave behind the largest rearguard I could."

"We could get the civilians moving now," Cassandra suggested, not willing to admit that her rescuing of Connolly and the others had been a mistake of any kind.

"It'll be a week until the pilots arrive," Ryan said, "I can't spare anyone to look after them until after that. We'll keep them in the tunnel entrance for the moment."

Cassandra was happy to hear that he wasn't planning on abandoning them, at least.

"That's where you come in," Ryan added, "Your soldiers will be on the defence rotation. Having made a mess, you're going to help clean it up, so help me God. Hope you've got some people qualified with walkers."

"A couple," Cassandra replied, "Did the Alliance inform you what you were getting when we were assigned?"

"I haven't talked to anyone from the Alliance since I got my orders," Ryan replied.

"I'll prepare an inventory," Cassandra said, shaking her head, "Bloody Alliance and their oversights. Only ever thinking about the navy. We're going to need a united Army, not this mixed up nonsense."

"Good," Ryan growled, "You're going to earn my forgiveness for your insubordination, Captain, don't have any doubts about that."

"Understood, sir," Cassandra replied.

"And remember one more thing," he said, "We're alone out here."

"No need to remind me, sir," Cassandra said, "I know it."

* * *

Victus watched the forest from the top of the cliff, hardly believing his eyes. There were two turian ships in a clearing, their forms just barely visible over the forest around them. One attack frigate and one heavy frigate. Just sitting there, doing nothing. It might not be such an unusual sight in other circumstances, even in this war.

The issue was that in the forest all around them, his scouts had reported a large force, heavily dug in, with armour and drones in abundance.

That meant only one thing. A great national disgrace had occurred. Turian military vessels on active service in a warzone had been captured for the first time since the Krogan Rebellions.

Worse, Victus had little doubt the humans were capable of cracking the computer codes, allowing them access to all sorts of intelligence. Not least the existence of the Citadel Council and the other sentient species of the galaxy, how to contact them included as a given. The private war of the turian generals could come to a crashing halt if any semblance of civilisation was detected by the asari in particular, and given the physiological similarities with humanity, he had no doubt the matriarchs would find some.

But now that he had seen it, his turian honour refused to allow him to let it pass.

"Corinthus," he called, "Get me General Orinia and send her our reports. We need to begin probing attacks immediately."


End file.
